


Blank Space

by therewasagirl



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Felicity/Oliver pre-Gambit, married Donna/Quentin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therewasagirl/pseuds/therewasagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I... I know you must have questions.”<br/>He waits for so long, he thinks she’s not going to ask him anything.<br/>“Were you ever going to tell me?"<br/>Oliver feels his chest constrict. Was he?<br/>“I don’t know. I… I didn’t want to.”<br/>Her eyes close with the weight of that statement and the thought that he’s hurt her makes him want crawl in the nearest hole and stay there.<br/>“You don’t trust me with your secret.”<br/>“I trust you with my life!” And he says it with such heavy conviction, so without hesitation, that Felicity’s eyes pop open, confusion swirling in them like mist.<br/>“I just…” But this is where Oliver hesitates, because he doesn’t know how to say this. He has never practiced saying this to her – he had never wanted to. It would have been like admitting he was giving in. “This thing I do, it creates enemies. I wanted to keep you and my family safe from that so I thought... I thought it would be a lot more difficult to link me to the vigilante, if the Hood was operational months before i came back from the dead. "<br/>(ON HIATUS AND DUE FOR HEAVY EDITING)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by KristinaOrtutova's fanmade video with the same title ('Blank Space' - Official Fanmade Trailer [HD] (Olicity) - you can find it on youtube; i advise you do, it's beautiful)  
> I give her full credit for the inspiration and also for the general storyline. Obviously I'm going to write it a bit differently, but still, i would have never thought of this story if it hadn't been for her amazing video.

_Despite the loneliness that alienates me from everyone, you have not grown strange to me; this thought gives me a pleasure hard to describe. It comes to me like a gift and also like something on which I have waited and on which I have believed. Whenever your name has occurred to me it has always made me fell stouter-hearted and more confident._

_Friedrich Nietzsche_

+

Felicity’s eyes open about 5 minutes before the alarm of her phone started beeping. She smiles when she sees her door is just a tiny bit open – just enough for the scent of the freshly made coffee and pancakes to waft in. She can a soft hum in the background that Felicity only catches it because she knows it’s there. It’s the news, and she bets Quentin Lance is sitting on the kitchen isle right now, sipping at coffee as he listens to it a whisper above mute, so that he doesn’t disturb his girls on Sunday morning. A smile creeps up her face. This is familiar, the closest to peaceful Felicity knows; this right now, is one of her happy thoughts.

And since she’s feeling so content, she lounges in bed, stretching under the covers like a cat, before she finally makes herself get out from underneath them. Yawning, she heads to the bathroom and what she finds there makes her smile with mischief: Laurel is staring at her own image critically, trying to tame her I-totally-just-had-sex hair into something more manageable… but now quite willing to give them up just yet.

“Braid or bun Laurel. Those are your only options.” Felicity says as she grabs her toothbrush. And its funny because they are grown ass women with successful careers and busy lives, but whenever they come over to their parents house, they still feel a little bit like kids again. Honestly, Felicity can’t even blame Laurel and Tommy for behaving like ones.

It was still fun to tease Laurel though.

“How did you know?”

Felicity cocks one eyebrow knowingly. “You giggle in your sleep often?” …and watches Laurel blush. Huh, interesting. Usually there was some snappy comment involved: Laurel must still be riding her Tommy-high of she was this glow-y.

_And eww brain, why would you ever go there?!_

“Ugh, you’re practically vomiting rainbows. Contain yourself.” Felicity snips, scrunching up her nose.

“Gotta admit, you and Tommy have some serious nerve, doing the nasty under the same roof as Quentin Lance, Donna Smoak and a loaded gun.” Felicity barely manages to keep her laugh out of her voice. “Is it about the thrill of getting caught? Cause I honestly don’t buy that you can’t be apart even _one_ night.”

“Why not?” Laurel dares and it makes Felicity shake her head, because Laurel has always been too practical to be such a flake, but the fact that Tommy makes her _want_ to be, is something wonderful that Laurel honestly deserves. “I’d have thought you of all people would have called that romantic.”

Felicity snorts. “Clearly, that’s your selective memory at work: I’d call it co-dependent.”

That makes Laurel laugh and she flicks a few droplets of water at Felicity’s face.

“He just got back from Central City, give me a break.”

“And what, he just couldn’t wait to see you?” Felicity asks with disbelief, but instead of biting off some smartass retort, a small smile lit Laurel up from the inside. They look at each other in complete understanding, and for a moment, Felicity feels a familiar twinge somewhere over her third rib, but she pushed it aside. Moments like these were too precious, even her memories showed some respect for this kind of peace. And if there is one thing Felicity most certainly does not want, is to make Laurel feel guilty for sharing this kind of happiness with her. That’s _not_ happening, so Felicity grins wide and true, and keeps teasing on until they are both giggling the way they never have when they were teenagers.

When they get to the kitchen, Quentin is already sitting by the counter, just as Felicity knew he would be, reading his morning paper. Laurel kisses his cheek as she passes by him – and steals his coffee cup with a little wink (they both know she will pour him a fresh one as soon as she gets to the counter – which she does). Felicity is just about to crack one of her jokes into the mix, but then her eyes glance at the TV… and she stills.

‘… _within the company confirm that over the past 15 years, Mr. Redman has withdrawn more than 30 million dollars from the plan’s account. Mr. Redman claims that refunding the housing pension plan has always been his intent, but sources say he was coerced by the vigilante…’_

“Holy shit…” she hears Laurel whisper beside her. Felicity agrees with the sentiment completely. Laurel grabs her phone and starts making phone calls, her voice becoming ever fainter as she retreats to her room.

As she takes in the details of the story, Felicity can’t help but think back to the last time she saw William Redman. For the last three weeks, Redman and Adam Hunt had been negotiating the possibility of a substantial investment in Palmer Technologies and between work dinners and board meetings and presentations, Felicity feels she has had way too much exposure to them both. As CEO and Chief Financial Officer of Palmer-Tech respectively, Ray and Anna had everything covered, but since Felicity is the Head of Applied Sciences and it was _her_ department Redman and Hunt wanted to invest in, she had had to attend every meeting throughout the negotiations. Financially speaking their proposal had been a good one; as investors they were prominent, with good resources and the ability to pull even more capital in through their connections. Personal feelings aside, Felicity could admit that (even though a couple of times she had been sorely tempted to stab either of them through with a fork; Ray had had the forethought of having the waiter take away the steak knives from Anna and Felicity both, just to be sure).

Still, it hadn’t been exactly easy for Felicity to sit in front of Redman and Hunt in polite company and pretend she had no idea what kind of back-door business they were involved in. Having a cop like Quentin Lance for a father and a crusader like Laurel for a stepsister tended to keep you informed on all kinds of things that, most of the times, didn’t make it to the light of day. She may have also enlightened Anna on those things, once or twice… but that was not the point. Not anymore, anyway.

“Weren’t you negotiating a deal with him and Hunt?” Quentin points out, no doubt knowing exactly where her mind had gone as she listened to the news.

“It fell through. Anna sniffed out some irregularities in their books that peeved her.”

There was a beat of silence.

“So Palmer dropped a multimillion dollar investment just because there were irregularities in accounting?”

Felicity can hear the incredulity – and an unwilling twinge of res pect – in his tone. Quentin Lance hadn’t much liked Ray at first, but that was starting to change slowly, while he realized what kind of businessman Ray was. What kind of person.

“Palmer Tech is very careful about who gets involved with their technology.” Felicity says absentmindedly, eyes still on the screen. “So, you know, when even your official books can't cover up the stench of money laundering, it's gotta be bad; and Anna doesn't take gracefully to people wasting her time.”

And wasn't that an understatement! It had not been anything they could actually prove, obviously. Anna had only had a hunch, but that woman's instinct was better trusted than ignored, because she was a high-finance genius and loved what she did the way sharks love blood. Still, all this passes through Felicity's head only tangentially, because she is too intent on studying the grainy photo of the vigilante they are now showing on the news (the tag under it declaring, in unforgiving red letters, his body-count so far: 8 people dead, 12 gravely injured). Its low resolution, but still the only one the media had managed to get its hands on so far, even though the Hood been active for more than three months.

“Money laundering? Care to expand a little on that?” Laurel pounces immediately and it startles Felicity a bit because she hadn’t realized she was back yet.

Felicity gives her a firm look. “I’m not at liberty to do that – as you well know, Miss Graduated-With-Honors-in-Law.”

Laurel’s eyes take a rare pleading note. “Come on Felicity. I’ve been building a civil suit against Adam Hunt for almost a year. If there’s _anything_ …”

“ _If_ there was anything - like investments through flimsy off-shore companies, cases of avoidable margin-losses and complicated transfers made for no reason, and money resting on multiple accounts for too short a time before moving… then I seriously couldn’t tell you about it, because it would be 50 kinds of ‘ _breach of contract_ ’ – to _start_ with! - so it wouldn’t be evidence I could back in court. Or that would help you any with a civil suit, for that matter.” Felicity finally looked away from the TV when the story on the Hood ended, and pinned her eyes on Laurel. “So stop asking.”

Laurel sighs. And for a moment the layer, the detective and the tech-wiz are silent, each contemplating their own thoughts.

“I’m gonna have to pull and Al Capone on Hunt’s ass, aren’t I?” Laurel contemplates.

Quentin snorts. “Yeah, right. Good luck finding a judge that will give you that kind of warrant on circumstantial evidence. And after that, good luck keeping him. Or her.”

“And keeping Hunt’s Legal Department from tearing you to pieces. Or burying you in paperwork.” Felicity adds, and Laurel’s glare transfers from Lance to her. Felicity raises a placatory hand. “Hey, look at the positive – at least the Vigilante took care of the biggest part of the problem for you.”

Laurel looks away but Quentin does not.

“How do you figure?” he asks… and Felicity sighs. It ‘s not the first time that they have this conversation, but they keep having different variant of it because, for some reason, Quentin Lance thinks he will be able to change Felicity’s mind through repetition.

Neither he nor Laurel can accept a solution that lives completely outside of the system, no matter how frustrated they are by it. ‘ _You don’t have to go outside the law to get justice_ ’; it is a favourite saying of theirs. Felicity acknowledges that, but she vehemently defends the sheer practicality of having a vigilante bypass layers of corruption and bureaucracy to recover people’s money, because the truth is that by the time the system gets around to that, Hunt will have melted his assets, or declared himself broke, or transferred all his money to untraceable accounts… When people like Redman and Hunt (and countless others) were concerned, public administration response simply did not cut it. This is a line of thought that baffles her family (though Laurel always pleads the fifth on that one), but Felicity is a hacker, and though she done any serious hacking in more than 4 years, she still thinks like one. To her, if the system doesn't work, or it works against the purpose it has been created to protect, you don’t waste time bitching about it; you simply _rewrite_ the rules. Find the loopholes, hack the directory and expose its weakness to the masses, so they can crash it to the ground and build a new one.

In Felicity’s mind, the vigilante is clearly the hack on the system – and he is _good_ at it… when he isn’t sticking sharp things in soft, lethal places, that is. Felicity admits to a certain moral flexibility, but murder is not something she can overlook, and the Hood tended to drop bodies with a certain alarming efficiency. And yet... sometimes someone truly evil turns up with an arrow through the heart, and Felicity can't say she is sorry for it and be honest at the same time.

But that is a can of worms that she does not want to open, not today. This discussion goes so far back into the past, that Felicity knows even before she has it, that it's going to spoil their morning. So when she meets Quentin's eyes, her look lacks the usual challenge.

“We both know how we feel about this, pops... but it’s too beautiful a day to argue, so let’s not.” She says calmly. She is not pleading and neither is she deflecting. She's just tired of the argument.

Quentin sighs. “Well, if you’re asking so nicely.”

“I am.” She says with a small smile.

“Fine, fine. No more vigilante talk.” Quentin takes a deep breath and then smiles. “So… how are my girls this morning? Any special plans today?”

“We’re fine thank you. And as for plans, apparently I have about 46 people whose paperwork I need to sort through, thanks to Redman's arrow-induced generosity.” Laurel says as she sits back down, putting the phone away.

“So I’m guessing you won’t make it to out shopping date with Thea today?” Felicity asked, though she could imagine the answer.

Laurel’s face fell. “No, I don’t think so. I’ll probably work through lunch and maybe even dinner. Tomorrow is gonna be busy.”

Felicity shrugged in her _‘what can you do_ ’ way. Thea would be disappointed , but she’d deal. She’d probably insist for skipping dinner with her family and having a take-out picnic in Laurel’s office. It wasn’t a bad plan.

But enough about that. This morning needs some cheer... and Felicity knows just the way to do it.

“Still, I don’t think 'fine' is the word I would use.” she says flippantly. Her eye meets Laurel’s briefly and Felicity fights to hide her amusement. “We’re great. Fantastic. _Resplendent_ really.”

Because come on, why not!

She hears Laurel choke on her sip of coffee and bites her lip hard to keep the straight face. She has the cheek to even hand Laurel a napkin as she sits down between her and Quentin. Laurel gives her the mother of all worldly glares.

“Huh. There’s a word you don’t hear every day.” Quentin comments, looking from one to the other, trying to get it.

“I thought it was appropriate.” Felicity smiles innocently around the words. “Don’t you Laurel?”

“Sure.” Comes the flat response. It makes Felicity want to giggle.

“I mean, it’s a beautiful word, one should use it more often. And if you’re going to use it, then today would be the perfect day for it: the sun is shining. The birds are chirping…”

Quentin’s brows arch up, forming a triangle over his eyes that should not be as adorable as it is, but it still makes amuses Felicity to no end: Quentin Lance, one of the most feared and relentless cops of SCPD, has a _puppy face_.

“Did you swallow a Disney princess last night or something?” Laurel deadpans… and it takes a moment for both girls to realize just what exactly came out of Laurel’s mouth, before they turn to each other at the exact same moment: Felicity tilting her head, folding her lips inward to literally _bite_ back the ‘ _Well,_ _ **I**_ _didn’t swallow anything!_ ’ that comes so close to flying out of her mouth, it’s not even funny; while Laurel’s eyes widen in horror and trepidation.

And if there is a bit of the triumphant _‘HA! Now you know how that feels like!’_ in Felicity’s expression, then who can blame her?

The whole exchange lasts maybe half a second.

“Nope.” Felicity grinned, popping the word out. ‘ _No swallowing involved. There was no swallowing done last night by me. Not. at. all.’_ She would have said that out loud once, but she has gotten better throughout the years, at controlling her own _enthusiasm_. “Today is just… a good day.”

And Felicity means it to be a tease, she really does, but it comes out softer than she intended, sincere. Laurel eases back, eyes softening, and gives her one of her slow, ‘ _I-could-concur-cities-with-it_ ’ smiles that is bright with happiness and affection. Felicity hides her own beam behind the rim of her cup.

“Oook. Don’t mind me, please continue the secret conversation.” Quentin grunts out, making Felicity laugh.

“Oh don’t be a grump, baby.” Donna says as she comes in, hair still wet from her shower. She kisses Quentin lightly on the lips, and he breaks character immediately, smiling at her. “Women will keep their secrets and do as they please; while men should just get used to it.” Donna adds, making both Laurel and Felicity smile widely, before getting up to help set the table.

“Ok then, how about we declare this family breakfast open. Pancakes!” Donna announces as she puts the huge place in the middle of the table. “Help yourselves everyone.”

Felicity feels no shame in admitting that she digs in like a baby dinosaur and that, when Laurel points this out, she does the same thing she did when she was 17: she opens her mouth to give Laurel a perfect view of her half-chewed food.

Laurel’s laugh cracks loudly, along with her: _‘Oh my god Felicity!’_ at the same time as her mother snaps at her about manners.

“It’s Sunday. We have a standing decree that we hold back manners on Sunday mornings.”

“We have no such thing.” Donna says firmly, but Quentin is pointedly looking at his plate, trying and failing to hide his chuckle.

+

Felicity had not been that surprised when Thea yelled at her from the top of the staircase that she would be right there - usually meaning she would be at least 15 more minutes.

“It’s ok, Walter and I have something to talk about anyway.” Felicity gives Walter a rather bland smile (she is still bad at the whole poker-face thing, despite being involved in the corporate world for more than 4 years now).

“Isn’t it weird how you guys are competition, but you’re also kinda friends?” Thea asks, cocking her head to the side.

Walter chuckles. “We’re _actual_ friends, Thea. And we don’t bring our work at home.”

But Thea rolls her eyes. “Please. You totally do.” But she is smiling and runs to her room while Felicity follows Walter down the hall.

“Moira is out?” She asks trying to sound casual.

“Yes. Starling City Museum is holding a fundraiser for the new Glades Hospital and Moira volunteered to organize the event.” Walter explains pleasantly. Felicity nods, feeling an uncomfortably big relief knowing that the older woman wasn’t home. It's not dislike exactly, the feeling between them… just more _silence_ than Felicity would like.

“Just so you know, I am keeping my lips firmly shut about the whole Unidac thingy so don’t even try to butter me up.” She says with a bit of a forced lightness, trying to find her usual comfort zone by aiming for a somewhat safe topic: business... even though as far as topics go, it’s not safe at all, 'cause the stakes running on Unidac's auction are pretty freaking high. Ray is determined to buy that company – listening to him go on and Doctor Markov is exhausting really. Anna's reasons on the other hand, are much more pragmatic: she wants to buy Unidac because she wants to rob QC of their last chance of developing their own Advanced Technology branch. Taken Unidac off the table, QC would have no choice but to push forward with the joint venture, since the Applied Sciences and tech Division of QC was almost nonexistent.

“I would never have presumed.” Walter responds and it makes Felicity chuckle and relax because, he _totally_ would! He has, actually, on multiple occasions. They both know that she'd never give an inch, but the push and pull was amusing to them both. Less so to Moira, who sternly holds Felicity's quitting Queen Consolidated years ago still against her. Amusement was not what Moira Queen felt when it came to anything related to Felicity Smoak... and how telling was it that even the thought of that particular can of worms makes her less anxious than dwelling on the conversations she was about to have with Walter.

When Walter Steele had asked Felicity for a favor, she had been uneasy. Not because she hadn't wanted to help out, but because whatever put a man like Walter in any kind of distress was a thing to take seriously. At the same time, Felicity had not been surprised at all that he’d turned to her for help. Competition or not, they had a long standing friendship that was built on respect and admiration for each others talents. Walter had been kind of her at a time when Felicity had felt like the whole world had turned its back on her, and she wasn’t likely to forget that. Once he’d trusted her enough to ask, Felicity couldn’t _not_ help!

Walter closes the heavy oak door behind him and Felicity releases a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She looks around, but not aimlessly: her eyes are immediately drawn to the set of pictures on the fireplace. Family pictures, of Thea and Moira and Walter… and older ones, of a smiling Oliver holding his sister up in his arms, of them on the beach, of Oliver in a tux and a 10 year old Thea in a cute pink dress. He is everywhere and for a tiny breath, Felicity feels overwhelmed. She wishes she’d been able to grow some kind of resistance to the thought of him over the years, but she hasn't. In a corner of her heart, there is still a piece missing, shaped after him, and Felicity has surrendered herself to the reality that it will always hurt - and that she will always miss him. That is the one thing that will never change: the pain of it does not render Felicity breathless anymore, but the missing of him… _that_ persists with the same endless ache whenever she thinks of him. And he has been relentlessly in her head these last few days.

It has been a shock having him there. Most days the thought of him isn't so intrusive. Usually Felicity can hold him back, there were even days when she doesn't think about him at all. But right now, Oliver’s ghost is right there in the room with her and god, she'd thought she was prepared for this, for the fresh wave barbed longing, but clearly she isn't.

She is right back at the starting point. Felicity had sworn to herself years ago that she wouldn’t do this, but now she has no choice.

“Calm down, Felicity. You’re not in the lion’s den.” Walter says gently – confusing the reason behind Felicity’s anxiousness… though, let’s face it, that's exactly where she is.

“Yeah, just because the lioness is out.” Felicity muttered, but Walter heard her anyway. He raises one questioning eyebrow and Felicity tries to look sorry, but she doubt's Walter believes it. He knows she and Moira are not exactly BFF's.

“Let’s get right to it, shall we.” Felicity says squaring her shoulders as they both sit down. She is unwilling to prolong this more than absolutely necessary. “I looked into the numbers you asked me to. The company Moira claimed to have invested those 2.6 million dollars in doesn’t exist.”

She says it bluntly, because there’s no way to sugarcoat this. Walter deals with his surprise in his usual matter-of-fact way, a lot better than Felicity had dealt with hers.

When he speaks his tone is both confused and clipped. “I don’t understand.”

_Yes, you do._

“There was no investment. The money was used to set up and off-shore LLC called _Tempest_.”

Felicity watches his brow furrow and she can practically hear him going over all the QC subsidiary companies, searching for that one name. He won't find it.

“I don’t recall that name being under the QC banner.”

“That’s because it isn’t.” Felicity confirms, and the last traces of doubt vanish from Walter’s face. There is only acquiescence there, so she lays it all down for him now that he is properly braced for it. “There’s nothing registered with the Secretary of State. No federal tax records, no applications filed - _but_ in 2009 Tempest purchased a warehouse, in Staring City.”

She hands him the folder with all the information and proof he'd need. Walter looks at it for a long moment, considering the situation, but doesn’t open it. His eyes come back to meet hers, they are a bit amused.

“Tell me, Felicity, do you remember all the names of the subsidiary companies to QC by heart?”

Felicity tenses, she can admit that. Her chuckle is more awkward than lighthearted.

“Well, technically, I _do_ have really good memory, so it’s possible…”

He raises one eyebrow at her.

Felicity sighs. “Yeah, ok. So I might have tinkered with the QC mainframe a little bit while I was alone in your office on Friday. It doesn’t count as hacking if I’m rearranging my own systems - I set up those protocols.”

“Are they so easy to bypass that you were able to do it in 15 minutes?” and he sounds honestly astounded now, and a little concerned. Felicity is quick to reassure him.

“No! Of course not. I just know my way around my own system – and by the way, you need to seriously upgrade your IT department cause those guys are _not_ as good as they think they are. Also, I… kinda had your password.”

Walter huffs a laugh that is somewhere between irritated and amazed. When he looks at her, it’s with affection and admiration, and Felicity finds herself relaxing.

“I am very glad that your integrity has survived the corporate world, Miss Smoak, otherwise we’d all be doomed.” Walter says warmly, and she preens a little, because every time Walter calls her ‘ _Miss Smoak_ ’ these days, he does so with that kind of mentor-pride that she absolutely loves.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Walter asks wearily, picking up on her hesitation soon enough.

“Yes.” There was a _whole lot_ more actually. And this was the ugly part. “There was something about the money transfer that felt hinky to me, so I dwelled a little on it. The money that Moira drew from the company – I wasn’t the only one who tracked it. There was someone else shadowing her and whoever it was, they’re good. Like, NSA good.” Felicity pauses, draws a deep breath. “But, as you know, _I’m_ good too. So even though they left almost no trace in the QC system, I did manage to find this.”

She hands him the image of the crisscrossing lines that vaguely resembles a star. It is a picture that means absolutely nothing to her, but that she recognized anyway. The moment she’d seen it, her stomach had fallen to the floor and a wave of fear had gripped her out of nowhere. It had been like a ghost coming to haunt her from the dead…

Walter looks at the picture with absolute befuddlement.

“Does that image mean anything to you?” Felicity asks, carefully assessing his reaction.

Walter frowns. “No.” he says simply, but can’t stop looking at it.

When he looks at her, he is taken aback by the set expression on her face.

“It doesn’t mean anything to me either.” Felicity explains. “But I have seen it before.”

Walter’s frown deepens and Felicity takes a deep breath. She has been steeling herself for this moment for about 5 days.

_Here goes nothing._

“The first time I saw it was seven years ago, by accident.” She’d been such a stupid kid back then. They all had been, but now that she thinks back to it, Felicity can’t help but be ashamed of the choices she’d made. Even with Tommy’s and Oliver’s egos in the room, her 18 year old self had been the most arrogant one around; not in any overt loud way like those two, but still… Felicity has paid the price for that, though. And it changed her, irrevocably. “Tommy Merlyn had crashed his father’s personal computer and I helped him clear the virus, set the system back up. When I was uploading Mr. Merlyn’s files back into his drive afterwards, I noticed that image kept coming up. It was the front of heavily encrypted files – and I’m talking about Pentagon-scale encryption. I didn’t look into them obviously; it didn’t mean anything to me.”

But then Tommy had disappeared. Felicity hadn’t made the connection, back then. Even _now_ it sounds like she’s grasping at straws: it had been _months_ between Tommy crashing his father’s computer and him disappearing.

“And then I saw it again, two years later. I…” and this is the hard part. The part nobody else knows. Felicity closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She has never told anyone about this for a reason: her searches had led her exactly nowhere. After the Gambit had gone down, (with Oliver in it because _Felicity_ had _put_ him there!), she had almost lost touch with reality trying to give everything a meaning, a reason. She’d hit dead end after dead end for almost year before she was able to admit that all the evidence pointed towards nothing more than a tragedy at sea (admit that, or risk losing herself). So Felicity had surrendered to the idea for the sake of her own sanity, admitting that she could no more blame the Gambit going down on anyone, than she could blame the iceberg for sinking the Titanic. There had been nothing to find… until now.

She takes a deep breath, controlling her breathing the way Digg had taught her.

“When Tommy Merlyn disappeared, Oliver was… he was devastated.” She is so proud that her voice held steady, because yeah, devastated is a pretty accurate word for what Oliver had gone through. “When no ransom requests were made everyone assumed Tommy was dead, but Oliver… he wasn’t the kind to give up on _anything_ really, so he kept looking.”

She stops, takes a controlled breath, and then another. Walter fills the silence for her.

“And you helped Oliver look.”

If his voice hadn’t been as compassionate as it was, as gentle, Felicity would not have been able to stand it. she was surprised at how raw the wound of it was. Maybe because she’d never spoken about this to anybody.

“I did, yeah.”

Walter leans forward a bit, his eyes kind.

“Did it never occur to you that it could be dangerous. That whoever was good enough to kidnap the son of one of the richest men in the country and leave no trace at all, could come for you too?”

It’s not exactly a question. Walter knew her, so he probably knew that the thought had occurred to her.

“It did occur to me… and it didn’t matter. Not really. Tommy was my friend, I loved him. I wasn’t going to let him go without a fight.”

She doesn’t say that, besides that very valid reason, there had been others that had been just as compelling, but Felicity suspects, from the understanding look Walter eyes her with, that he already knows.

“We didn’t find much anyway… didn’t find anything really. But – and he’s where I’m going to have to need you to be patient with me: I hacked into Robert Queen’s personal server at QC… and I found that same image.” The words rush out, as if she’s afraid he’ll interrupt her. “We didn’t go in looking for it or anything, but I remembered.”

Felicity doesn’t know what Walter is thinking in that moment. He has his CEO face on and she can’t see past it into his thoughts.

“And why did you hack into Robert’s computer?”

Felicity smiles at the way he asks that, as if the reason behind such an action is unfathomable. The truth though is so simple, it’s almost heartbreaking. It’s who she had been back then: no respect for anyone or anything, only daring and boldness and a reckless will to test her own limits… and a person who was just as undisciplined to urge her on. It sounds complicated, but it’s really not, so Felicity gives Walter the reason with the simplicity it deserves.

“Because I could… and Oliver asked me to.”

It stuns Walter into blinking rapidly and for a moment he looks away from her, as if whatever the look on her face, is one she can’t stand for too long.

“And what do you think that means? What did it mean to you then?” he asks after a few moments, more composed.

Felicity shrugs helplessly.

“Nothing in itself, obviously. But it was hidden behind layers upon layers of encryption. There were military-grade security protocols surrounding the whole directory, and I was only able to get past the first few layers, which is how I found that image. People don’t use that kind of protection unless they’ve something to hide – something big. In my experience as a hacker, it’s ether something bad, or something they’re seriously ashamed of.”

“It could have been confidential information pertaining QC.” Walter suggests.

Felicity nods. “It could have been. Except it was hosted in a whole different platform, separate from the QC system completely.” And using a completely different form of protection that had been eerily similar to the protocols Malcolm Merlyn had had on his computer. She explains that to Walter as well, watches as his expression turns thoughtful.

“Oliver was going to ask his dad about it. There was no other way of knowing what it was.” Her voice is soft, almost unwilling. “…Two weeks later the Gambit went down.”

The silence that fills the room carries such weight that Felicity feels she can’t move under the pressure of it. She doesn’t speak to end it though, because she knows better than anyone that certain things take time to absorb.

“It is all very strange, I admit, but… this symbol could easily be code for a business deal that Malcolm and Robert might have been planning together.”

Felicity opens her mouth, closes it again. She contemplates the possibility, its plausibility, as Walter explains.

“Just a few months before Gambit went down, they were meeting more often and though there was never anything official, I was sure they were going to try some kind of business venue together. That kind of action needs to be very carefully protected, as you well know, especially if its corporations like QC and Merlyn Global engaging in it.”

Felicity sighed deeply. Was it possible? Sure. Could she believe it? Easily. Was she still afraid? Most definitely yes.

“Honestly Walter, I have no idea what that thing is. What I know is that every time I’ve seen this thing, something horrible has happened. Not necessarily _because_ of it – Oliver knew about his father’s trip to China before we found that design, but now that I have found it again, I feel like…” Like what? Felicity had no words to describe what she felt, that inexplicable pit that dread had eaten in her belly. In her subconscious, she had associated this stupid design with her fear of loss and she couldn’t see beyond that with any degree of clarity.

“It’s senseless.” And it was! She knew it. “Tommy has been back for two years and he won’t tell anyone where he was or what happened to him, but he has no idea what this thing is either. And God knows I can’t blame anyone for a storm sinking a ship, but…”

Felicity shakes her head, feeling awkward and inadequate. This is all beyond the point anyway.

“You trusted me to dig this up for you, and now I am showing you the same measure of trust, by telling you everything I know about it. Which is nothing at all, except that it’s existed for years. You need to know what you’re dealing with, on the off chance that this…” _could kill you too_. But she doesn’t say that. “…whatever this is, might be dangerous.”

Walter opens his mouth but Felicity never hears what he meant to say because precisely in that moment that Thea bursts into the room.

“I am _so_ sorry. I had this one outfit picked up and then changed my mind, and then found this dress I had been looking for since forever…”

Felicity and Walter share a smile and then turn to Thea, who is still going a hundred miles an hour. Felicity gets up and Walter follows (he so very naturally picks up the photo of the mysterious star-like design on his desk and folds it, putting it in his pocket. Felicity wants to tell him to burn it…). He walks around the desk and kisses Thea’s cheek, before extending his hand to Felicity, takes her smaller one in both of his.

“Thank you Felicity.”

There is such weight to his words, such intent in his eyes that it’s very much possible Thea picks up on it, though she can’t know what they’re talking about. Felicity doesn’t say you’re welcome, because it wasn’t exactly a pleasure to go down on memory lane, but she does nod and give him a small smile.

“Have fun, both of you.” Walter says smiling at them, ushering them out.

“We will! Come on.” Thea takes Felicity’s hand and almost drags her out. “Ok. So I was thinking: shopping first, then lunch, after that we get our hair done, catch a movie and the pick up takeout and then crash at CNRI with Laurel. Sound good?”

Felicity beamed. “Sounds great!”

 

 


	2. One and a Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add Oliver's POV in a chapter of its own, with a few edits.

‘ _Take away my affection and I should be like sea weed without water. Like a shell of a crab, like a husk. All my entrails, marrow, juice, bone, would be gone. I should be blown into the first bubble and drown. Take away love of my friends and my burning and pressing sense of importance and lovability of human life and I should be nothing but membrane, a fiber uncolored, lifeless.’_

_Virginia Wolf._

Being back in Starling while still being dead to the world at large wasn’t as difficult as he had expected: in a city of 25 million people, you could go unnoticed easily and the Glades were the perfect place for that. Nobody really looked at anything, and even if they did, they didn’t repeat it to anyone. It’s easier to survive that way.

The first two weeks had been spent setting up the Foundry with everything he’d need, planning, training. He rarely went out during the day, and he hunted his prey during the night with methodical precision and cold detachment. Now that Oliver finally was to this point, there was nothing in the world that would be able to stop him from keeping his promise to his father. Robert Queen had not died as a good man, but Oliver would honor his father’s sacrifice, no matter what. It was with that thought in mind that Oliver tried to build his existence as the vigilante, trying to find footing in this new phase of his life. He established a rhythm to his days, a patter, and found comfort in that… or as much comfort as he was capable of finding everywhere.

But despite all the restraint and the focus on his mission, there were still things that weighted on him. There was a part of him under all the layers of discipline and careful control, that still wanted the very simple things he had wanted when he was stranded on that island, sometimes (when he had a moment of quiet, a moment when being weak for home, would not have been fatal) with an intensity that sometimes unnerved him. …Oliver wanted to see his mother again, knowing she’d hold him as if he was still a boy. He wanted stand in front of Thea and hold her _so_ close, kiss her hair and tell her he loved her, that he’d missed her more than anything. He wanted to see Tommy and ask him where the fuck he’d been, who took him, why. He wanted Felicity…

Oliver wanted a lot, he always had. There seemed to be no bottling up his greed, so instead of suppressing it, he tried to control it. He couldn’t have all those things he wanted, not yet – there was a point to what he was doing, even though most times it felt like it was hard to remember it. There was a point to being back only as the vigilante: he owed it to the very people he loved, to protect them from what he was doing, so that once Oliver Queen did come back from the dead, nobody would ever associate him with the Hood.

So instead of going to them, Oliver settled for the next best thing: watching over them. He never got too close. That was the rule for everyone, but it remained especially important for people that would actually recognize him if the caught so much as a glimpse of him.

He sometimes followed his mother when she went to lunch, or out with her new husband. She was still a beautiful woman and though there was a forlorn quality to her eyes, a coldness to most of her expressions, she seemed content most days. It was a strained kind of emotion, as if she was wearing the same way she wore her impeccable suits, but at least she was trying to be happy. Thea had been easier to keep track of… but more difficult to actually _look_ at. Oliver couldn’t keep any kind of distance from her, not emotionally, not the way he’d thought he would. Thea was his _sister_ , she was precious to him in a way nothing had been able to taint. Even just at the sight of her, love – of the purest kind, unblemished by guilt or broken promises - bloomed in him. One look at her and Oliver had felt everything; he’d felt _Ollie_ again, he’d felt like her brother for the first time in a long, long time. It had been a shock to find out he was capable of feeling so much, after having been dead inside for so long… and all Thea had to do to remind him was _exist_. But in the same breath that he had loved, he had also hurt. Because Thea, _his_ Thea, she had lots of friends but solitude was etched deep in her eyes; she was always smiling, but only rarely did she manage to look truly happy. And every other day, she would go out into the grounds of Queen manor and sit down on the cold ground between two gravestones, telling them about her day.

The sight of his sister looking so small and sad and forlorn, happier with ghosts than she was in most places, had jolted Oliver’s heart to life with a wrench that felt a lot like heartbreak. He had almost hyperventilated as he listed to her, feeling his throat closing around emotions that flooded his veins too thickly for him to be able to contain them. Oliver had taken two steps towards his sister before he’d even realized what he’d been doing, and it had been a miracle he’d remembered his mission, his duty to her safety first, and changed his direction. So he ran until he wasn’t able to run anymore and only once he was in the relative safety of the Foundry had he allowed himself to stop and take a full breath, lungs burning… and if the sweat mingled a little with tears, so what. At least he was human enough to be able to shed them.

He had been back in Starling for 35 days and one morning when, at the sight of his sister talking to his own tombstone, Oliver felt jarred into _actual_ life. And that was also the day he realized how two very important things: how fully unprepared he had been to be human again; and that finding whatever soul he had left would be as painful as shattering it had been.

It had been 78 days since that morning. Things hadn’t gone exactly as Oliver had planned (when did they ever, anyway) but all things considered, that might be for the better.

Three months though, and tonight was the first time he dared to get this close to the _other_ woman in his life… and she wasn’t even there.

If Oliver had been careful about his distance with his mother and Thea, he had been absolutely _paranoid_ when it came to Felicity. He’d avoided her purposefully in the beginning; staying away even from Thea or Laurel or Tommy during the days he knew they would be around her. He couldn’t imagine himself around her, scurrying in the edges of her life like that; it’s a line that Oliver couldn’t bring himself to cross with her. So for a while, all he had of her are articles online, pictures of her and videos of scientific conferences he couldn’t understand much of. And if he had been shocked, initially, to see how changed she was (at least on the outside), Oliver wasn’t at all surprised by the life she was living: he’d always known she was remarkable.

In the end, that was precisely the trap he fell into, without even realizing: she was _living_ , fully, and nowhere around her could he feel traces of pain, of hollowness. Oliver’s insides bottomed out at the thought that Felicity had moved on from him completely, making him actually _feel_ the meaning of being ‘dead to the world’… but even in the darkest, most selfish part of him, he couldn’t resent her for it. Maybe, if he could push aside the hollowness it caused him, Oliver could even be glad for it: because he looked at her life and the absence of unhappiness in it abated the guilt that tried to smoother him sometimes. She was happy, she was everything she had ever wanted to be and she had had the strength to do it despite everything else that had been taken from her… and knowing that, knowing she was capable of that kind of strength gave Oliver a strange, utterly foreign sense of safety. It made him feel as if, maybe, even I he got a little closer to her life it wouldn’t matter, that he wouldn’t taint anything, because Felicity was stronger than that.

But he realized only too late that once he took that first step, there would be no going back. That despite his efforts, it would only escalate. Because once Oliver did gather the nerve to get closer, to be at the other side of the street when she went to work, or at the top of the building when she came home at night… he just _couldn’t stop_!

Every single detail about this new version of her stunned him: the glasses, the dresses, the hair, the make-up, the heels… She was blinding in all the brightness of every single color she put on, girly and flirty in a way he had never seen and that could easily make him breathless from a block away, because this wasn’t just anyone, it was Felicity. _Felicity_ flicking her golden ponytail, beautiful mouth painted boldly, everything about her impossible to miss even in a city as crowded with bodies as Starling. This Felicity was so different from the edgy, dark girl Oliver remembered; different in _everything_ , even the smallest detail, in a way that made him think of deliberate construction: she had taken the person she used to be and flipped it on its head. And for some reason, that made perfect sense to Oliver: if anyone could do it, it would be her. It also helped that, no matter what colors she was wearing, whether in heels of heavy boots, she was still undoubtedly _Felicity_ , the same person he had fallen in love with years ago, and that part of her shone through everything she did, everything she was. Sometimes it made him smile, just looking at her… (most times it made him want to do something incredibly stupid, because he missed her now more than ever, with ever broken beat of his heart and it was like breathing with broken ribs).

Unfortunately for Oliver though, watching her through a screen or several hundred feet of distance does not prepared him for what it feels like to walk into her space, even if it is just her office. It smells like her in there, a thin scent trapped between heady and fresh, a sweetness that lingered. He takes off one glove as he walks to her desk, touches the surface of it. There is a jar on the side, filled with at least 40 different kinds of pens and though it is pitch black in there, Oliver knows they are all red (12 seconds of scanning the room before he entered it had told him that though there was no trace of ‘ _Oliver Queen_ ’ in Felicity’s office, there were marks of ‘ _them, together_ ’ everywhere and it had been like a punch to the gut and warm bucket of water over his back at the same time). A chewed one is over the folder she abandoned not 5 minutes ago, when she’d been called for an emergency in the labs, on the other side of the building. Oliver snatches it before he has time to change his mind. His hand hovers over the keyboards of multiple computers. He knows better than to touch those.

‘ _That is a brand new TX-500 and if you like your fingers unbroken you will remove them from my baby!’_

He is smiling before he even knows it. He’s been remembering lately, what that feels like.

His heartbeats become irregular when he wraps his fingers around the soft sweater that she had left on the back of her chair – a fluffy, vivid pink thing. He buries his nose in it, the softness of the material as gentle against his face as a caress, and takes a harsh, deep breath, blood rushing loudly in his ears as the scent and warmth of her fills his lungs over and over, until Oliver is sure he will be able to detect traces of it on his face even afterwards. Oliver had never figured out why or how, but she used to have this way of leaving her scent all over him: he would hold her, kiss her and afterwards, his hands, his clothes, his face – they would smell like her. She’d linger on him like a brand… She smelled exactly the same even now, and Oliver feels his chest threaten to open up in a way that almost made him groan out loud, his feelings raging up a violent storm of want and crippling need… And he is grounded in that moment, both frozen in it and standing 12 inches behind himself, watching the vigilante of Starling City with his bow in one hand and Felicity Smoak’s soft sweater in the other, nose pressed against it, her scent in his lungs, down his throat, and it should be ridiculous, but its only heartbreaking. Because he remembers with slicing clarity the spot just under her ear, the curve where her neck turned to her shoulder… those patches of her had smelled just like this, only better, because there had always been a palpable warmth to Felicity’s scent that made it unique, always clinging to her skin, but never lasting on her clothes. Oliver remembers the line he used to follow with lips and teeth, from the hollow of her throat all the way to her collarbone and lower… and lower, and suddenly it feels like the cruelest thing in the world that he can’t walk up to her and do it again. The impulse is so strong that it leaves Oliver reeling: for control, for steadiness but there is none to be found, usually.

He clenches his jaw and tightens his fist around the stupidly soft sweater before he puts it down on the back of her chair… and then takes a second to smooth it out the way she had left it (and maybe because he feels foolishly guilty that he tossed it). One deep breath and he finds his calm center, another and he remembers to pull out from within his jacket the file he had put together for her. he punches one of his arrows through it, nailing it to the wall just behind her desk.

He doesn’t wait around for Felicity to find it. It would be stupid to do that, in the state he is in.

But even as he ziplines his way down from the top of Palmer Technologies, Oliver can see her in his head as if he is there with her. he sees her come in, saying hello to Rudolf the Blowfish and Nemo the Clown, tapping the aquarium as she walks. She will probably turn the lights on and say something along the lines of ‘ _Ok, not creepy at all’_ and then she’ll see his little gift there on her wall.

He heard her as clearly as if he were standing right next to her.

‘ _Ooh, frack.’_

He remembers how, on the island, he used to sit down sometimes on the roots of some tree, stare up at the night sky and imagine her there beside him, and he’d have whole conversations with her ghost… and miss her with a soul-crushing ache that used to bring tears to his eyes. In time he had stopped thinking about his family, stopped remembering who Oliver Queen had been before he dipped his hands in blood and death… but for some reason (he’d always thought it was to punish himself), he had always kept her ghost, and every other night it was to her he confessed. ‘ _I killed a man today with my bare hands. I had to torture a man to death, he wouldn’t talk; I shot someone from a rooftop, half a mile away without even knowing what he’d done to deserve it; I saw a kid die today, couldn’t stop it; I thieve, I blackmail, kill for little good reason now, it’s so much easier; I help people buy and sell people, I… I saw girl being raped, didn’t do anything. She had black hair, just like you_.’

He stopped talking to her after that. He’d imagine her sitting in front of him, and he’d stare at her in silence, anchoring him to a life and a person ( _Oliver Queen? Who was he before this?_ ) that he had almost forgotten completely. Eventually, he stopped trying to imagine her there. He couldn’t come up with a reason for her to be in his vicinity anymore, even if she was just his imagination.

And now he is back, and is still stuck having conversations with her in his head, because though Felicity is literally just an arm’s length from him, he might as well never have left the Island, or Hong Kong, or Russia… He is still very much in love with her and the memory of her both; clinging to with what she meant to him a lifetime ago and hungry for who she is now. He wants, but is ashamed of it. He could be in the same room with her and still miss her as if he were half a world away, because Oliver knows himself well enough to know that anything short of _‘everything’_ from her is never going to feel like enough… just as he knows that there is nothing he could do to ever remotely be a man that would be worthy of having that chance.

 


	3. One and Three Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...because I really love Thea.

‘ _I have no notion of loving people by halves. It is not in my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong.’_

_Jane Austen_

She walks slowly whenever she goes to them. There is no need to hurry, they’re not going anywhere. That’s the one good thing about dead people, supposedly: you can count on them o always be there.

Thea sighs as she kneels in front of the tombstones, cleans the fallen leaves from the tops, takes away the dried flowers and puts in the fresh ones. Its white roses for her father this time, and colorful wild flowers for Oliver. She always brings them flowers that remind her of the day she had, and today Thea spent the morning with her mother and the rest of the day with Felicity.

With a deep sigh she sits cross-legged on the ground and plays with the blades of grass a little, allowing the weight of the sadness and solitude in her chest to swell and fill her from the tips of her hair to the tips of her toes before she lets it go.

“Hey guys. Hey…” for a few moments she is lost and words escape her. But that’s ok, she doesn’t have to pretend here with them. They can wait. They always do.

‘ _Start small._ ’, Felicity had told her a long time ago. ‘ _Start with something you’re happy about. Something that would make him smile. Something you feel. It’s ok to feel too much… just as it’s ok not to feel anything. Your grief is your own; nobody can tell you what to do with it._ ’

Thea was a lot more conscious now of how much those words had cost her. Felicity and Thea had very different ways of dealing with loss and grief. Opposite ways almost. Thea needed to hold on, to come back over and over. Felicity… Felicity survived differently.

“So… Mom and Walter are disappointed I’m not going to college, but they approve of me taking a year if I’m gonna be working. Mom wanted me to get an internship at QC, can you believe it? Like that’ll ever happen!” Thea relaxed as words started pouring. And the more she spoke, the easier it was to imagine she was talking to her brother and father again, and not their graves. “No offence dad, I love the company and all, but I wanted to take this year off for me, and I want to find some kind of… some kind of independence, away from being a Queen and all that. Working at QC would be kinda counterproductive to that, so mom is gonna have to learn how to curb the control-freak tendencies.”

And what better way to assure that then to go work for someone on whom her mother had absolutely no control over at all. Thea smiles ruefully as she remembered the last exchange between Felicity and her mother. Tense was an understatement.

“Mom likes Felicity even less now. She acts like Felicity stole me away or something, which is nuts, but whatever. Mom lost that right years ago, seriously. She has _no right_ to resent Felicity for being a better parent to me than my _actual_ living parent! Jesus, talk about hypocrisy.” Thea looks down; rips out the grass tangled around her fingers, feeling her resentment simmer. And then the sadness settles. “I dunno what it is between them, cause neither will tell me anything. It’s like they think I’m stupid or something. Whatever.”

Thea takes a deep breath, shakes her hair out of her face.

“Honestly I’m not that surprised. They’re so different. Mom is used to brushing nasty things in corners; Felicity drags them center-stage and gives them a piece of her mind in her Loud Voice. It makes for interesting Thursday night dinners sometimes, when I can actually blackmail your girl to coming over, Ollie.”

Thea chuckled, shaking her head. She was grateful for few things in her life and knowing Felicity Smoak was one of them for sure. She and Laurel and Tommy, now that he was back, were her tether to her brother and Thea had held on to them with every ounce of strength she had. And it might sound strange, but she loved Felicity precisely because the blonde had absolutely sub-zero tolerance for Thea’s bullshit.

A slow smile creeps on Thea’s lips at the thought.

“I kinda think that’s why you liked her too, isn’t it Ollie?” she says softly, a whisper that gets lost in the breeze. But then a happier thought intrudes. “Oh, by the way, Felicity is all things spicy and nice, but she’s one hell of a slave-drive at work.” And Thea chuckles, because she remembers suddenly that she is happy these days. “Laurel was worse! So glad to be out of Community hours at CNRI by the way. Totally pulled a you with that DUI there Ollie, but it kinda wasn’t my fault, in case you don’t remember…”

It had been the moment her life changed. In retrospect, Thea could see it clearly.

“I love it though… It’s nice to be trusted like that. She honestly believes I can do anything I want to, you know, and I really don’t want to let her down.” And she didn’t. for the first time since her brother and father’s funerals, Thea was starting to grasp at what it meant to be alive, and to be happy again. She was starting to find out that she was a helluva lot stronger than she’d known (and people like Tommy and Felicity and Laurel acted as if they’d known it all along, and that truly felt like love).

“I’m really doing better these days guys. I’m happy…” And even though she was smiling and meant ever word, two twin tears finally dropped from her eyes and made their way down her cheeks. “I miss you. I miss you Ollie, I miss you.”

_Come back to me…_

But it had been a long time since Thea had last wished that. She hadn’t lost hope, but she had decided to take a leaf off Felicity’s book on that: ‘ _Keep hoping, but don’t let it smother your life. It’s no use that way_.’

What Felicity hadn’t said was that it would feel so much like betrayal… and so much like freedom, too.

 


	4. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> '...Do you remember the first time you saw her?'
> 
> Ps: Ages, just to avoid confusion:  
> Tommy; Oliver; Laurel – 21  
> Sara – 19  
> Felicity – 17

_'I meant it when I said I didn't believe in love at first sight. It takes time to really, truly fall for someone. Yet I believe in a moment. A moment when you glimpse the truth within someone, and they glimpse the truth within you. In that moment, you don't belong to yourself any longer, not completely. Part of you belongs to him; part of him belongs to you. After that, you can't take it back, no matter how much you want to, no matter how hard you try.'_

_Claudia Grey, 'A thousand pieces of you'_

 +

Tommy has never thought of himself as the sharpest tool in the shed (despite being assured on multiple occasions that he was, in fact, a tool), but he does know about people. It’s not a conscious thing really; he just _gets_ them, instinctively (and by paying attention): what they think or feel or why they do things. Robert Queen always calls him perceptive because of that; tells him that if he ever decides to apply that gift to business, half the job would be done for him, because in business - like in life - it’s all about people and what they want.

But Tommy is 21 and though Harvard Business School didn’t turn out as bad as he'd expected, the mere thought of shadowing his actual father in any capacity makes him do stupid things like persuading Oliver on the perks of skinny-dipping in a mall’s fountain when they are both stoned out of their minds. Still, between the feelings of abandonment and, at the same time, dreading any amount of Malcolm Merlyn’s attention, it is all pretty confusing and Tommy has turned the ‘ _not-thinking-about-it_ ’ route into an art form.

But that Saturday morning Tommy isn't thinking about any of those things. The summer has just begun and for the first time in months, he, Laurel, Oliver and Sara are in the same city at the same time. Laurel is fresh out of graduation and, in typical Laurel fashion, has already found a job with in the District Attorney’s office. (She is also going through one of the 'off-again' periods with Oliver, but they don’t talk about that.) Sara has just come back from her sophomore year in Princeton and it makes Laurel tear up with laughter when it turns out that her sister is more successful at picking up women than both Oliver and Tommy – something which Oliver denies vehemently, but facts are hard to fight with: Sara is of the drop dead gorgeous kind, inside-out. If Tommy was a girl, he would totally throw his panties her way. Hell, he’d throw them at her _right now_ if he could be sure she wouldn’t strangle him with them! Tommy on the other hand is one semester away from graduating and Oliver has managed to _not_ kicked out of the fourth ivy-league institution he is auditioning (‘ _what is it this time, Jon Hopkins?_ ’ Oliver had rolled his eyes at that and flipped him off lazily). So really, they all agree that, each for they own reasons, they deserves one hell of a party.

They are just talking about it when Sara gets distracted by something right over Tommy’s shoulder.

“Is that Felicity?”

Laurel turns her head so fast that she might give herself whiplash, and curses under her breath. She turns back to the table, pins Sara with a level-4 glare.

“Sara, don’t you _dare_ …”

But it’s too late and not just because threats bounce of Sara like water off a duck – but because she is actually yelling ‘ _Felicity!’_ across the café so loudly that half the customers turn in her direction – including the girl in question, and Tommy has to sigh. It’s strange sometimes, how complicated sisters are – specifically Sara and Laurel, since they are the sisters Tommy knows best. They have this deep connection that almost makes them seem telepathic. They can have entire conversations in just one look and yet, this doesn’t soften the differences between them _at all_. It doesn’t contain Laurel’s tempers, it doesn’t soften Sara’s stubbornness. And when they disagree, it becomes explosive because neither of the Lance sisters is very much inclined towards compromise.

And it’s a matter known to both Tommy and Oliver (judging by the weary look on his face) that Felicity Smoak is a matter where Sara and Laurel disagree to the nines.

+

In the interest of complete disclosure, Oliver has to admit that he is fully prepared to dislike Felicity Smoak. It's not anything personal, since he's never met her, but this girl’s existence has been the source of a lot of pain and anguish for Laurel in the past year. Tommy has taken to calling the previous summer ‘ _Laurel’s dark ages’_ and he isn't so far off. Some of it Oliver has learned through Laurel herself, some of it through Tommy, so Oliver is familiar (maybe a bit more familiar than he is comfortable with, sometimes) with the depth of the betrayal Laurel had felt when her father remarried, adding a stepmother and stepsister to their family. Insisting that her stepmother is a reformed Vegas stripper was the bright spot in Laurel’s rants – when she is angry, it gets nastier. The stepsister apparently is a hell-spawn as well… which seems to contradict Sara’s not-so-quiet gushing that the girl – _Felicity_ – is a genius and badass wrapped in Goth package.

For a little while there, Oliver had flirted with the idea that maybe Laurel was just a bit jealous, since apparently, the Stepmother’s Spawn had graduated with honors from high school at 16, gotten into MIT at 17, and was among the best of her year – according to Sara, at least. That was not an easy bar to top and Laurel is freakishly competitive… but Ollie had changed his mind on that real quick when, after a night out some months ago, after he and Tommy had had to take a tipsy/drunk Laurel back to her dorm room, she had just sat down on the stairs and cried with gut-wrenching sobs, mumbling about anniversaries and how she couldn’t believe that her father had forgotten about her mother so soon, when she had barely been gone for 4 years. Tommy had not hesitated a single second before he sat down and wrapped Laurel in an embrace so tight that she finally stopped shaking, murmuring god-knew-what in her hair.

That had been the moment Oliver had known beyond any doubt that Tommy’s feelings for Laurel were very much not-platonic… (which had made the whole getting back to the 'on-again' part of his relationship with laurel herself a lot more complicated than Oliver had ever thought it would be)

So yeah, all in all, Oliver doesn’t know what to expect when cornered by chance into meeting Laurel Lance’s evil stepsister, but once Sara spots her – very loudly - Oliver finds himself… surprised.

The first thing that comes to his mind as he zeroes in on her is that this girl is actually the exact opposite of Laurel, and as far from his type as one could possibly get. Felicity Smoak is short and curvy and dark - and not in the luscious-brunette way, but rather, in the edgy, ‘ _don’t talk to me’_ way. And though her hair falls in her face and her face is hidden beneath edgy makeup, Oliver can tell that she is pretty, in a sweet, forgettable way (Except her lips. There was nothing forgettable about those and it takes Oliver the total of one blink to know it. They are painted a dark maroon and she has a red pen trapped between them as she digs in her small bag. When Sara calls her name and as she turns, she catches it, lips falling open in surprise. Yeah, she has a gorgeous mouth). When Felicity Smoak faces Sara’s 100 watt smile with a hesitant one of her own, her cheeks dimple and her whole face sweetens… and Oliver knows, in exactly that moment, that despite the departure from his usual preferences, he would be very willing to talk Felicity Smoak into going out with him, if only once. (The thought that she would love his Ducati comes unbidden, but it seemed it was there to stay.)

“I can’t _believe_ this!” Laurel hisses from his right.

Oliver _hmm-ed_ absentmindedly, assuming that what Laurel couldn’t believe was the fact that Sara had practically snatched Felicity from the counter and was leading her to their table. On the other hand, he practically _felt_ Tommy’s look, because of course Tommy noticed (Oliver wasn’t exactly being subtle; Laurel would have noticed too if she wasn’t fuming) and one single eyebrow coming up to question him is Tommy’s silent way of asking ‘A _re you for real right now?!_ ’ Oliver limits himself with a shrug and half a smirk, just as Sara’s voice starts carrying to them.

“… and then it was too late to say no. Not like I was doing anything better.” Sara flicks her hair over her shoulder as she comes to sit back at Tommy’s side, dragging a chair there for Felicity too… who doesn’t immediately sit down.

“Anyway. Felicity, this _here_ is Laurel’s best friend and one of my top five favorite people ever; and that _there_ , is her disastrous ex-boyfriend – you are still her ex, right Ollie? You didn’t like, get together in the 20 seconds that I left this table?”

“Sara!” Laurel’s voice climbs at least 2 octaves higher than normal.

“Hilarious, Lance.” Oliver deadpans, cause the jab actually stings…

“Yeah, they’re still friendly-ish– but that’s just cause they’ve known each other since they were snooty brats and even Laurel’s heart-of-stone softens at Ollie’s puppy eyes. Guys, meet the brand new Lance family addition and greatest tech-savvy genius you will ever have the privilege to lay your eyes upon.”

Tommy snorts. “ _Upon_?”

Sara answers him with a haughty smirk. “Yup. I’m a college girl now; I get to use fancy words.”

“That’s not a fancy word, Sara.” Laurel says, exasperated. “And _our friends_ have names, which I’m sure they would like you to use when introducing them to strangers, as opposed to objectifying them into boy-toys.”

Sara looked at her sister as if she is a particularly slow child. “But they _are_ boy-toys. They’ve worked very hard for it too.”

Oliver sees Laurel close her eyes and can practically _hear_ her count back form 10… or 100. It is a bit funny actually – in the ‘ _possibly-live grenade in your hand_ ’ kind of way. But instead of watching this situation evolve to its full explosive potential, Oliver makes the choice to diffuse it. Sara and Laurel arguing in public is never a good idea – there would be no getting them to go to the same party at the same time for at least a month if that happens.

“Hi.” He says extending a hand to Felicity Smoak, his smoothest smile on. “I’m Oliver Queen.” Even though he knows just by the look Felicity Smoak gives him, that she already knows that. “Disastrous ex and current dropout – my puppy eyes apparently don’t work on college professors. You can objectify me anytime.”

There is something sharp in Felicity’s eyes, her intelligence probably, as she fixes them on him. Oliver’s practiced smile falls just a tiny bit, because that unflinching look reminds him vaguely of his mother when she knows he fucked up and is waiting for him to admit to it (which is disturbing on so many levels he almost physically flinches from the thought). But for the smallest fraction of a second there is also a certain kind of weariness in Felicity's blue-grey eyes, one that could even be shyness. It's gone in a blink though, the odd vulnerability is wiped clean from her expression as she takes his hand.

“Felicity Smoak.” That’s all she says, and she doesn’t even bother with the perfunctory smile that follows an introduction. Her nails are painted black, her fingers long and her palm tiny in his. The sureness of her grip confirms his suspicion: this girl is a no-bullshit kind of person.

It really is a wonder that she and Laurel don't get along – they have a lot in common so far.

“Thomas Merlyn.” Tommy says, reminding Oliver to blink and move, cause staring is for amateurs and he is smoother than that. It takes Tommy a moment to smile at her, but when he does, its sincere. “You can call me Tommy.”

“Nice to meet you Tommy.” Felicity says and then physically takes a step backwards from them and the whole conversation they hadn’t even begun. “Ok, so I came here to introduce myself and now that I have, I’m gonna go. Enjoy the coffee, bye.”

“What? No, wait!” And Sara has already grabbed her by the hand, refusing to let her go. “Stay with us a little. I’ve wanted to introduce you guys since forever.”

“Oh yeah, let’s just make this whole thing even more awkward, why don’t we, Sara." Laurel hisses, and Sara turns to glare at her sister. Both Oliver and Tommy realize this could go to hell in a hand basket really soon, but neither has the balls to step into whatever is happening between the two Lances.

“What is your _damage,_ Laurel?” Sara grits out, both disbelieving and irritated. “Can’t you just say hello and goodbye and goodbye like a normal person?”

It makes Laurel roll her eyes.

“Why, of course. Where are my manners?” And her voice drip with saccharine sarcasm. “Hello Felicity, how are you? Made any small children cry today?[1]”

Felicity Smoak answers with a calmness that baffles Oliver into staring at her.

“Sadly no, but its only 10.30. I can still try to bring out the human in you.”

Laurel’s eyes flash. “Hilarious.”

“Aren’t I just.” And the grin Felicity Smoak puts on is the epitome of _I-have-zero-fucks-to-give._ Oliver should know, he wears it often enough. But beneath all that, there is vein of restlessness to this girl that Oliver immediately recognizes: it’s like she can’t get out of here soon enough.

“Not that this hasn’t been… interesting, but I’m kinda waiting for someone, so…”

Laurel snorts. “ _You_ have a date?” The incredulity in her tone is sharp, mocking, and it causes everyone to take a moment and appreciate its bite – a moment during which Laurel becomes incredibly aware of herself and Oliver can see that she regrets it (the tips of her ears are starting to turn pink) but Laurel is nothing if not stubborn: she barrels on, throwing a daring look at Felicity.

“Not exactly, _Laurel_.” And its awkward, because somehow Felicity manages to make Laurel's name sound like it’s a filthy word. “But since you’re so eager _not_ to let me leave, I might as well make myself comfortable.”

And that’s how Felicity Smoak plants herself in the free chair right between Oliver and Sara, staring Laurel in the face as if she was rising up to the challenge and twirling that red pen between nimble fingers.

“So, what do you want to talk about? Life? Love? Common symptoms of sexually transmittable diseases?[2]”

Sara bites back her laugh but she’s the only one that dares make a noise. Oliver and Tommy catch each other’s eye, both freaked out and uncomfortable, though Oliver has to admit that a small part of him is... kinda enjoying this. He hasn’t met a lot f people that can go toe to toe with Laurel without some serious damage, but _this_ girl… she looks like she could dance circles around anyone.

“I think you should go now.” Laurel hisses.

“Oh, _I_ think I should stay.” Felicity snaps back. “How was your morning Sara?”

Sara gives her stepsister one of her brightest smiles.

“It was alright. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you left out the last of the Chock-Chips for me, by the way – thank you. Where were you off to so early in the morning, anyway?” Sara turns to Tommy and Oliver. “She was up at 6 in the morning, I have no idea how she does it.”

Oliver takes the hint. He can’t very well let Sara do all the work, can he. The fact that he actually _wants_ to talk to Felicity Smoak is just about… 37% of his reasoning.

“What did you have to do, to get up at 6 in the morning? Is the sun even up that early?”

Felicity’s eyebrows rise a little on her forehead.

“Dawn is at 5.02 a.m. this time of year.” She says, cocking her head to the side. The sun catches her hair as she does that, and the vibrant blue streaks in it winks at him. “I find it incredibly unsurprising that you don’t know that.”

Oliver’s smile grew wider, playful. “You’re avoiding the question.” Oliver points out, as if she didn’t know that. “Not every well either – I should know.”

Felicity Smoak rolls her eyes at him.

“I am running a scavenger hunt.” She states plainly.

Sara’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah, what kind?”

“What’s the prize in the end?” Tommy asks, leaning forward on the table.

Oliver throws a glance in Laurel’s direction – she is still fuming.

“ _I_ am.” Felicity says simply, and then something occurs to her and she adds. “If he can find me, that is.”

Sara huffs out a laugh. “Ook. That’s hot.”

That makes Felicity’s eyes soften a little, the tension ease just a tiny bit from her shoulders.

“If you says so.” She says noncommittally, but her tone lacks the practiced blase note form before.

“Didn’t you have a nasty incident with a stalker a couple of months ago?” Laurel asks, and though it’s not as biting as before, it’s still harsh. “Isn’t that why had to come _here_ this summer? To put a thousand miles between _that_ and yourself.”

Tommy and Oliver aren’t even subtle about their _‘wtf’_ moment this time, because they know Laurel: If anyone would have so much as _hinted_ that it was a girl’s fault for being stalked, Laurel would have torn their throat out – figuratively of course - and now she was… kinda suggesting it?

Felicity’s eyes flashed, but just as she opened her mouth to say something back to that, she trailed off and her face was flooded with astonishment, because sure enough, a random guy comes by their table, looking a bit uncertain as he takes them in.

Oliver evaluates the dude in in 30 seconds: probably about Oliver’s age, maybe a couple of years younger; tall and lanky and, judging by the way his clothes hang on him, he doesn’t spend _all_ his time with his nose in books or behind a computer screen the way Oliver imagines geeks do. Blonde, blue eyes and all that crap… but by far what most seems to define this guy is not anything about him, as much as the fact that he is very, very focused on Felicity Smoak. He's spared less than a glance for the rest of them (which was admittedly weird since, even admitting he might not know Tommy or Oliver, there were still two gorgeous girls sitting on that table and any self-respecting male would have looked over at them least twice). For a second, Oliver thinks this one is the stalker Laurel was talking about – that is until the guy opens his mouth, releasing a long breath.

“Holy fuck…”

Felicity cocks her head to the side, eyebrows shooting up. “Huh. Not the reaction I was going for.” But her eyes are intent on him.

“Can I help you?” Tommy asks in his best ‘ _what the fuck do you want, mortal_ ’ tone.

“No, I don’t think so.” The dude says, but then he smiles at Felicity and holds out his hand for her. “Hello. I’m Cooper Seldon… but you probably already know that. Right. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Felicity lets out a breathy sound that could have been a chuckle, except she seems too surprised to manage it right.

“Thanks” She says, her voice a bit higher than normal. “Hi to you too. I’m…”

“You’re the Oracle.” Cooper says, almost reverently. Oliver's eyebrows reach for his hairline and he's about to crack a bad joke when he notices how that name makes Felicity wince.

“ _Oracle_? _That’s_ what you call yourself?” Laurel mocks, and for the first time Seldon looks away from Felicity Smoak and fixes ice-blue eyes on Laurel.

“No. That’s what _we_ call her.”

“We?” Sara tries, but instead of looking at her Cooper Seldon goes back to staring at Felicity right in the eye, and Oliver finds himself both stunned by his nerve and irritated by it at the same time.

“Felicity Smoak.” She says softly and though its the second time she introduces herself in one day, Oliver can tell that this right here is a whole different thing from the one before it. “That’s my actual name. Just so you know. Cause calling me Oracle is gonna get old really fast. Not to mention awkward. So… yeah. Ok.”

Seldon huffs a small laugh – he hasn’t let go of her hand yet. When he does, its reluctant, like he expects to keep contact with her at all times. Oliver barely manages not to roll his eyes (barely, mind you). Cheesy move.

But as much as dick-Seldon seems to irritate him, watching Felicity Smoak get all nervous is actually pretty amusing. Apparently she talks a lot more when she's is caught off guard or when her defenses are down. Oliver looks at her with a cocked eyebrow and a smile as she talks… and maybe he shouldn’t have, because she probably feels his look because and turns, catching his eye. The deer-in-the-headlights expression she is sporting makes her look exactly as young as she actually is, and there is a vulnerability about her in that moment, looking at him without any pretense, to which Oliver can't help but respond to: her discomfort is so obvious and honest, that the need to reassure her is instantaneous. Before he knows what he's doing, Oliver finds himself smiling at her; one of the few honest smiles he ever gives. He doesn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but it the way she still completely is definitely a surprise. Felicity looks at him like it's the first time she is actually _seeing_ him and it lasts less than a blink, but within that blink, the full measure of her concentrations slams on him and something _clicks_ in the distance, and he feels surreally naked under her scrutiny.

But then she blinks and he looks away, and the heartbeat of a moment is over.

“Right, so… this is Sara Lance, my stepsister.” She says quickly, and then points at Laurel. “That's my other stepsister. And they are Tommy Merlyn and Oliver Queen.”

Cooper Seldon nods at them but he doesn’t seem all that interested and doesn’t bother to hide it.

“You know… I always thought you were a guy.” he says instead, skipping the whole introduction. A one-track-mind kind of guy, Oliver thins darkly, eying him a lot more carefully now.

Felicity arches one eyebrow, one corner of her mouth pulling up in a knowing smirk. “Most guys do.[3]”

“I’m relieved you’re not though - being already half in love with you was a problem cause I couldn’t see myself in the gay scene very comfortably, but I was prepared to make an exception in your case.”

Her laughter comes out surprised but the pure, undiluted amusement in it and it is beautiful. Her whole face changes and she goes from pretty, to _beautiful_ in the fraction of a second, and Oliver can't really help but stare, because she is smiling fully, but for someone else.

Jealously is a feeling he is not used to, and the way it creeps onto him now leaves him completely befuddled.

“That’s… comforting to know, I guess.” Felicity finally says. They smile at each other for a bit.

“So… I’ve been meaning to ask you this since… ever since it happened really.” Seldon leans in a little closer and really, the guy is shameless and he is starting to get on Oliver’s last nerve.

(which is ironic, 'cause Oliver would have been exactly as shameless if but given the opportunity)

“How did you do it?” Seldon asks in a whisper, and then, at the look of confusion on her face, he adds to it. “The hack into the IRSD-base, how did you… I mean, that was _three_ years ago, how old even were you?”

Felicity opens and closes her mouth a couple of times and looks a bit lost for words, eyes bouncing around from Seldon to Oliver, to Laurel and Sara and then back to Seldon again.

“Ah… Three years ago would make me a little bit older than 14. Which is beside the point, because I don’t know what you’re talking about, clearly. And seeing that I don’t know what you’re talking about, I can neither confirm nor deny any involvement with that… that _fantastic_ piece of work.” She finishes, lips curving into a mischievous smile.

Oliver wants to remind them that hey, they’re not alone and their flirting is getting annoying real quick, but Sara gives him a look so sharp that it promises serious retribution if he so much as _dares_ ruin this moment. Oliver is tempted to do it just to see the look on her face, but then he catches sight of _Felicity’s_ face and how the mischief has softened to something a lot more genuine and shy… and it stops him. She looked miserable just 5 minutes ago, like a trapped animal – a feeling Oliver knows well enough to be able to appreciate the fact that right now, Felicity is over it. So he keeps his mouth shut and tells himself it really doesn't matter why he does it.

Cooper Seldon's voice breaks his thoughts.

“Do you wanna go somewhere? Anywhere? I don’t know any good coffee places around here, but I can find out. Wanna have a cup of coffee with me?”

It is clear that Felicity wants to go with him, but there is a glint in her eyes, a playful one that tells Oliver she also likes to tease – and why not, since she seems to be so good at it! She gets up, but leans against the chair, making it clear she isn't moving anytime soon.

She wasn’t going to make this easy for him and Oliver smiles around the rim of his cup. He really likes this girl and it's just too bad that he's not the one she's playing with... but he intends to change that soon enough. The fact that there is another guy in the picture never really stopped him before.

“I don’t like questions.” Felicity says and it makes Cooper Seldon frown even though he is still smiling.

“Have some coffee with me?” he tries again.

“That’s still a question.” She points out and Oliver barely holds back his laugh.

_Work for it, blondie_. _Third time's a charm._

“Come have coffee with me.”

_...Or not._

Her brows twitch upwards in a look that practically giggles ' _Really?'_ in Seldon's face. Her smiles gets wider. “That’s too demanding.”

Cooper Seldon laughs.

Just Oliver's luck that the guy has a sense of humor. This would have been so much easier if he hadn't.

“Ok. Ok. I got this. Hmmm. Ok, so I’m gonna go grab a cup of coffee…”

Felicity takes a tiny step closer to him. “I would love to join you.[4]” she says, mirroring his smile.

She waves at them and goes, without looking back. Oliver follows her with his eyes until she’s outside and feels a sharp stab of annoyance when she hops behind Cooper Seldon’s bike, wrapping her arms around his middle.

He was right thought, she looks good on one.

“Well, that was interesting.” Sara says, sounding amused. “Felicity has scored again.” Then she laughs because how cute was it, she says, that he couldn’t take his eyes off her, like she was some mirage.

Oliver looks away from the window… and almost flinches when he meets Tommy’s amused (and irritatingly knowing) stare. One eyebrow comes up to question him silently, so Oliver discretely stamps on his best friends foot from under the table.

“She’s going to get in trouble, and then _we_ will have to deal with dad and his rants over her.”

Sara snorts. “That guy isn’t trouble. He’s smitten, that’s what he is. Felicity deserves someone falling over for her like that, cause she is awesome. And _you_ need to stop being a bitch to her Laurel.” Sara’s tone has gone from casually observing to hard as steel as she talks to her sister, but Laurel shrugs it off.

“I have the right to have my own opinion, _Sara_. If you don’t like it, well tough, cause it’s not changing.”

Sara’s eyes sharpen. “Sure you do, _Laurel_. And I have the right to point out how unbelievably stupid your opinion is. You don’t like it; well tough, cause _that’s_ not changing either.”

 

  * [1] 10 things I hate about you; quoted from the exchange between Kat and her father.
  * [2] Quoted from Paris Geller, in Gilmore Girls, because I love that girl.
  * [3] Exchange stolen from the Matrix, between Trinity and Neo in the club
  * [4] This whole exchange is copied form a part very much like this in The Tourist. I thought it was hilarious, and also it fit Felicity because she would have been a lot more obvious about her trust issues when she was a teen, and she seems like the kind of person to shrewdly test people before she gives so much as an inch of herself.




	5. Three

**Three**

_“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”_

_Frank Herbert, Dune **[1]**_

The door of her office opens and closes and Laurel huffs - she knows its Felicity. Nobody else dares to come into her office without knocking; not even her boss. But then again, nobody else is Felicity Smoak: most things that for other people seem outlandish, make perfects sense if Felicity is the context.

The no-knocking policy though is less of a Felicity-quirk and more of a habit grown from affection. (Though it is just as true that, if Felicity has something important that she feels needs to be said, she will barrage through fucking walls too, if she has to.) Somehow, somewhere between Sara drowning in the North China Sea and Laurel realizing that she and her dad would have never been able to pull through even half as well as they had, if Felicity and Donna hadn’t been there to break their fall, Felicity had become such a permanent fixture in Laurel’s life, that being comfortable with each other enough to just walk into each-others office, or rooms, or general space, without warning became almost a comfort. It became their way of showing each other that they welcomed each other. Laurel still felt herself cringe with lingering shame, knowing that it had been her fault it hadn’t always been that way, so it was pretty damn important to her that they were now so close that they could simply _assume_ acceptance, because it was a given.

(Laurel would rather not count the times that knowing this had saved her from the brick to complete despair. Or the times Felicity had just shown up at her door with only ice-cream and wine, needing silent company, only seconds away from falling apart.)

There could be down sides, obviously. Usually both Felicity and Laurel had assistants informing people whether or not their bosses were busy, but there had been that one debacle with Alice gone from her desk and Felicity walking in to Laurel and Tommy making out like teenagers. Laurel had been intensely embarrassed – mostly because she had been a second away from jumping Tommy's bones all the while having forgotten to actually _close the door_! - and then intensely relieved that it was _Felicity_ , and not one of her co-workers who had interrupted. Talk about the lesser evil. This opinion had only lived the length of a blink, though, because that was how long Felicity’s surprise lasted. Then, the cheekiest grin Laurel had ever seen and had lit her up from the inside out and she’d snapped a picture with that stupid phone she always had glued to her hand!

Laurel still hadn’t gotten her to delete that picture. Nor would she ever, probably…

So, when Felicity comes into her office in the middle of the day carrying food, Laurels isn’t that surprised. They both know that with Tommy in Gotham for a week, the most Laurel would have for lunch would be a sandwich as she went over Mrs. Fernandez's the legal history.

Laurel glances at the name on the take-out boxes.

" _Antonio’s_ , huh? So this is a work thing, then. And here I thought you'd missed me."

"Yes, your sunny disposition is a sorely needed balm." Felicity deadpans, and it makes Laurel smile. They settle on the small table by the corner of her office as Felicity opens the cartoons. The smell of actual home-made past and carbonara sauce makes Laurel's stomach growl, and Felicity doesn’t even have the decency to hide her cocky smirk.

"You and Tommy are spending way too much time together." Laurel says, pointing an accusing fork at her.

Felicity shrugs, her usual _'deal with it_ ' reaction. She plants the salad in front of Laurel who groans even as she stabs the tiny tomatoes.

"What is it with you and having salad as a first course?" She mumbles around the mouthful, glad that she doesn’t have to be her classy self at the moment; she’s too tired for it anyway, her back is killing her, a nice reminded that she fell asleep on her desk for a couple of hours last night.

"It’s healthier apparently. Or so Digg says."

Laurel rolls her eyes but can’t bring herself to object much. She is too hungry and the salad is really working for her, even if she hasn't ever been the biggest fan of the squishy white cheese thing; mozarella something.

“How is Jon by the way?”

“He’s alright. I think he’s been getting closer to his ex-wife recently, but he’s really tight lipped about it. Not that I blame him.”

Laurel nods absentmindedly, more focused on the food than the talk.

“Still training with him then?” Laurel asks after a few more bites.

“Yup. Though not as often as Digg would like.” Felicity huffs. “The man wants to kill me.”

“He’s right.”

“Gee thanks.” Felicity says dryly.

“You know what I mean.

“Yeah. But neither of us has time really. Where other people catch up over a cup of coffee on weekends, Digg and I arrange rough-and-tumble playdates. Ugh, I’m still sore from last week.”

Felicity stills and then winces at her own words. She catches Laurel’s knowing eyes as they dance with silent laughter and points the fork at her in warning.

‘ _Not a word!’_

Laurel flaunts an innocent look, but Felicity just rolls her eyes and goes back to her food. They eat and talk about their day and their jobs and the spa weekend they had planned, but all the time Laurel had the feeling Felicity is… stalling, perhaps? There is just something about her manner: she is a bit subdued, her eyes keep straying, as if she goes somewhere else for moments at a time. Had it been anyone else Laurel would have pushed, but if there is one thing she knows about Felicity, is that she doesn’t ever hold out on you. You will get a piece of whatever was on her mind, but you will get it at her own time, not yours and pushing will probably just earn you a shove and nothing more.

In the end, it’s only once they are done with the food that Felicity drops the real news.

"So… I found this in my office last night." Felicity says as she puts a thick folder on the table, in her ‘ _I am very calm and I need you to be aware of it_ ’ voice. Laurel frowns, opens the thing gingerly, because there is a cut on the papers, as if the folder has been stabbed through with a tiny blade. She is only five pages in when her eyes widen in comprehension, a small ‘ _oh my god…_ ’ escaping before she looks up, wide-eyed and a little panicky. In her head, Laurel is already building a defense for Felicity in case this goes sideways, thinking of all the favors she would have to call in.

“… You _found_ this in your office?” Laurel repeats cautiously, looking Felicity in the eye. “I’m going to go ahead and assume that you have a very casual relationship with the retrieval of this data, ‘cause, correct me if I’m wrong here, but there is no way that this kind of information can come from any other source other than Adam Hunt’s personal computer… or that of his many layers."

“You’re not wrong. And I have _no relationship_ at all with the retrieval of that data.” Felicity says flatly, knowing what Laurel is getting at.

Laurel relaxes back into her chair, only then realizing just how much she had freaked out there for a moment. Giving the assistant DA a file full of sensitive information is one thing, but if you hack that information illegally and pass it to the Assistant DA, who also happens to be your sister, things could get complicated for Laurel and Felicity both really fast. Laurel would get off with a warning for conflict of interests, but Felicity could get 10 years in a Federal prison!

“Ok. Explain.” Laurel sighs. “And use more words this time.” She adds more firmly and then returns to the perusing of that file because admittedly, now that the safety her immediate family is not on the line, Laurel can multitask.

“Well… when I say that I _found_ it, I actually mean that it was nailed to my wall?” Felicity says hesitantly… and Laurel starts to understand why she had been stuffed with A-class food before they came to _this_ part of the conversation.

“What?” she asks slowly.

“… With an arrow.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Laurel gaps for maybe a couple of seconds, and then sags against her chair, her mind a whirlwind.

“Oh, fuck…” the word is little more than a whisper, but Felicity hears it.

“My sentiments exactly.” She says, though she sounds a lot more composed than Laurel is feeling.

Laure orders her brain to think.

"Ok. So… the Starling City Vigilante, a guy who has eight confirmed kills, got past Palmer Tech’s security system, sneaked into your office and… wait, were you there?"

"No." Felicity says without hesitation.

"Ok, he sneaks into your office and leaves a file there with very sensitive and private information about one of Starling's dirtiest businessmen."

"Arrowed to the wall – let’s not forget that little detail." Felicity points out again – and there is an edge there that speaks of a really bad freak-out Felicity has already worked through. "I mean, he could have made it less freaky by, I dunno, leaving an arrow _on top_ of the folder on my desk; leaving a _note_ , or… _anything_ , really, rather than putting a hole in the wall with a sharp pointy objet. You know how I feel about those. And maybe he wants to help but seriously, the guy needs some serious PR lessons on how _not_ to freak people out!”

“Felicity.” Laurel calls gently.

Felicity takes a deep breath, releases it slowly. Laurel sees her lips move silently and knows she is counting backwards, reaching for composure like it’s the threads of a rope.

_3…2…1…_

“Can you use that stuff, at least?” Felicity asks finally.

Laurel snorts. “I’ll butterfly Adam Hunt like a shrimp with this – and it looks like he won’t even be alone on the wall cause this stuff…” Laurel shakes herself, getting back on track. “Yeah ok that’s not the point. The point is that out of roughly 25 million people in Starling City, the Hood, a probably psychotic serial killer - because calling him anything else is sugar-coating it, Felicity - chose to give this file to _you_." Laurel says and the full meaning of her own words settles a moment after she has said them, heavy and cold in her gut, unsettling her lunch. “This is… ‘dangerous’ doesn’t even cover this!”

“I already reached that conclusion sometime around 2 a.m. last night.” Felicity admits with a resigned smile. “But the guys he hunts down tend to turn up a bit more on the dead side, and not with leverage on corrupt businessmen on their hands. …I don’t think he means me harm, Laurel.”

"You don’t _know_ that! And you can’t risk your life on a hunch about a man who has already killed 8 people and severely injured a dozen more! And let’s not forget you are a prominent figure at Palmer Tech, which is one of the fastest rising companies in the last 50 years and the Hood doesn’t really like those, if his record is anything to go by.” Laurel snaps, reacting to fear and uncertainty with anger, because it as a kneejerk reaction that she still hadn’t gotten under control. Then she takes a deep breath, and starts doing damage control. “I’m telling dad. You're going under protection, right now!"

She’s already got hold of the phone and dialing, when she feels Felicity's hand on her own, gentle, steady. Laurel meets those storm-blue eyes and the sureness in them rattles her to the core – because, Laurel realizes with sharp trepidation, her little rant has not told Felicity anything new, has it? Of course not. Felicity is the kind of person that doesn’t need to be _told_ things: she’s the kind of person that has already considered all the angles before a normal person gets halfway through them.

"Tell dad we're coming over tonight.” Felicity says calmly. “ _Both_ of us. I’ll tell him then, when he can see my face and know I’m fine."

It’s not an order, it’s a statement.

“Felicity…”

But Laurel’s insistence only causes the spark of annoyance in Felicity’s eyes.

“SCPD won’t _matter_ and you’ll just scare him into overreacting.” Felicity fixes her with a firm look. “You know what I’m talking about Laurel.”

Laurel flinches and then throws Felicity a sharp glare. Of _course_ she knows. They’ve both seen Quentin Lance almost spiral completely out of control over Sara. They know how he gets when it comes to their safety.

“Be that as it may, you still _need_ protection!” Laurel persists, because Quentin Lance’s issues with loss aside, that’s still true.

“Jon Diggle is on the other side of that door – _he_ is my protection for now.”

“Felicity…”

“Laurel! The Hood got to men that could afford - and had actually hired - their own private armies for protection. SCPD has _exactly zero_ chance of keeping me safe if the Hood wants me dead, you and I both know that. And our father and my mother deserve to be looking at me in the face when I tell them that I might be target for one of the most efficient killers in the history of Starling."

The ring stops and suddenly her father’s voice is in Laurel’s ear, gruff as ever.

"Better make it quick Laurel, I’m heading out." he grunts without preamble.

Laurel considers for only half a moment: she knows Felicity has an excellent survivalist instinct and her deduction skills are better than anyone's Laurel has ever met. Hell, the woman is a veritable genius. Laurel knows she can trust her… and in the end, it’s that trust that wins over her own stubbornness.

"Hey dad. Just called to let you know that Felicity and I will be coming over for dinner tonight, so you better be there."

Her father chuckles warmly on the other side of the line and Laurel lets out a tired breath. She really hopes she's doing the right thing here. Felicity’s hand squeezes her wrist, as if she heard exactly where her thoughts headed.

"I can hear you grumbling pops. Be there. Don’t make us come get you." Felicity says from over the desk.

"Fine, fine. Slave drives. You're both gonna have to explain to my captain why I’m not filling in tonight."

"Tell him you have a life.” Laurel says with a small smile. “And vengeful daughters."

"That’ll help." her dad grunts.

"Tell him we're the cutest cupcakes ever." Felicity adds making her father bark a laugh.

Laurel rolls her eyes. "Speak for yourself."

Felicity winks at her, and it’s almost a thank you.

“It might work if I promise some pro-bono services from either of you, next time the department needs it.” her father says and Laurel can’t help the small smile.

Felicity pumps a fist in the air. “Sold!” …and despite all the tension gathering between her shoulder blades, it still makes Laurel smile. Her dad chuckles in her ear – he heard it too. (it used to make Laurel jealous once, that Felicity was able to make her father laugh, but after Sara died, and Felicity was the only person that could coax Quentin Lance into anything even resembling a smile, Laurel learned to feel gratitude… and to love Felicity for it.)

“We’ll see you tonight dad."                                                                

"See you tonight baby."

Laurel hangs up… and pins Felicity with a hard stare. Silence settles between them and she decides to lay it all out.

"He could be out there right now, stalking you.” She says, leaning forward. “He could be planning to kidnap you, hurt you. I could wake up tomorrow and find out on the morning news that one of my closest friends has three arrows in her chest."

The thought turns laurel’s blood to cold lead. She can’t help but think of Sara, a shiver shaking her bones. And it’s ironic that with those unapologetically blunt words Laurel wanted to shake Felicity into taking this as seriously as possibly, but all she manages is to make herself shudder. It’s then that Laurel imagines Felicity in her polka-dots pajamas and bunny slippers, huddled on her couch, alone, and contemplating how a murderer may be out to get her… and every ounce of harshness drains out of Laurel fast, leaving behind only guilt and sharp worry.

She groans. "Why _you_? I keep wondering that. You've done nothing shady recently have you?"

"Nothing that would warrant me being on the kill list of a guy that hunts one-percent-ers, no." Felicity says as she leans back on the chair and starts spinning it around. Laurel takes the time to just... _stare_ for a moment.

Her stepsister, her good friend for three years, is facing the possibility of being the Hood's target - she is facing it in Laurel's office, an unapologetically-red dress with strategically placed cut-outs and strappy heels (that Laurel is seriously going to borrow some time), looking both veritably hot… and somehow still managing to seem like a child playing with the rotating chair in her parents office.

“You know what I think Laurel?” Felicity contemplates as she eyes the ceiling, so deep in thought that her tone sounds almost absent-minded. “I think he knows me.”

Laurel bites back a curse.

“…Or knows _about_ me – which sounds a lot more possible. Except, the only thing I’m known for is running Applied Sciences at Palmer Tech – which is one of the few businesses that are actually _helping_ this city. And as much as I despise the man, Adam Hunt is none of my business, nor is any of my business persecuting him, so handing _me_ the file makes no sense… unless he knew I'd give it to _you_ , which, let’s face it, is not that much of a stretch. I mean you _are_ my stepsister and Quentin freaking Lance is my stepfather. But it also implies that he either knows me, or has been stalking me recently… and I’m really not sure which one is scarier right now.”

Felicity covered all the bases there, but there is only one point over which Laurel disagrees. Laurel had dealt with enough criminals to be able to extract a certain type from a series of patters, so when one looked the Hood over, it was pretty easy to see that randomness was not part of his profile. A guy who kills by shooting arrows through people’s hearts and _eyes,_ is not a guy that makes mistakes of precision. When he singled someone out like he had done with Felicity, there was always a purpose, and Laurel was convinced that it was not because of anyone Felicity was related. The connection was not between Felicity and her family… but rather between Felicity and the Hood himself. Whether real, or imagined in the head of a killer, Laurel did not know, but in the end it did not matter, so long as it was real to the Hood. To him, it was probably personal… and there were very few things more dangerous than ending up on the line of sight of someone so unbalanced.

Laurel voiced none of this to Felicity (no reason to go in depths with the scales of the danger she was in, no reason to spook her more) , but the moment Felicity gets out of her office, she grabs her phone and calls Tommy. He picks up at the second ring.

“Hey babe, whasup? I can’t be long, I’m in a lunch meeting, so be quick, or I'm ditching and then you'll ha...”

“Tommy...”

There’s a moment of silence, just a beat as Tommy absorbs the exact note of worry in Laurel's voice, the fear she is withholding.

“What's wrong.”

Laurel closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She lets herself be reassured by the tone of his voice, deeper and more intent than his playfulness just a second before. She can imagine him frowning then, tense as a live wire and looking blankly at the space in front of him where her eyes would be if she were standing there.

“I'm ok.” She says quickly. “But I think Felicity is in big trouble. No scratch that, I _know_ she is.”

“Tell me.”

And she does. She tells him everything, knowing that he ditches that lunch meeting without a second thought and not even sorry that she makes him do it, because though Laurel has always been the one to push him into applying himself, this trumps everything else in her books.

By the time she is done, Tommy calmly tells her that he will be on the first flight out of Gotham.

Laurel sighs. “Tommy, I'm sorry for asking this…”

“Don’t be. Felicity is my friend too; I want her safe as much as you do.”

Laurel bites her lip. The ‘I _love you_ ’ stays trapped behind her teeth. She has been doing that more and more lately, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to not just blurt it out.

“Thank you Tommy. I'll book you a flight right now, so...”

“Oh don’t worry about that. I booked one about three seconds after you said my name.”

Laurel closes her eyes and rests her head on the back of her chair, gripping the phone a bit tighter.

“Tommy…” And she doesn’t even care anymore how breathy her voice comes out, how needy she might sound to him. Tommy has always been the one person she was willing to be weak for.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

Laurel can practically _see_ that small smile that curves his lips, the warmth that fills his eyes, making them glint the way they used to before he disappeared for two years to the edges of the earth.

“…I miss you too.”

+

Tommy closes the door of the foundry behind him and then, instead of walking down the stairs he simply vaults over the rail, landing with a soft thud. The repetitive clang-ing sound of a bar hitting steel told him Oliver was on the salmon ladder.

“I go out of town for two days - _two days!_ ” he says, biting off each word. “Literally not even forty two hours - and _this_ is what you do?!”

He can’t see Oliver’s face but he is sure he was heard, even though Oliver barely stopps his climbing, and then down again, when he reached the top. Well, that wasn’t going to work, but Tommy knows something else that will get under Oliver’s skin like a disease.

“You scared the hell out of her, you moron.”

He probably could not have said it at a better time: Oliver was in the process of another downwards jump on that thing and apparently the shock of the words didn’t make for the right amount of strength, or maybe he hesitates at the wrong moment – it didn’t matter; what mattered was that one moment Oliver was on the salmon ladder, the next he was falling and landing on his feet, the bar clanking loudly two inches from his head.

He turns around to give Tommy a glare full of sharp annoyance – except Tommy is far beyond caring for Oliver’s weird way of balancing things. He wants answers.

“Save _that_ for the tourists and explain to me why you would go and do something that doesn’t make the smallest amount of sense whatsoever.”

Oliver narrows his eyes at Tommy, but then turns away, grabbing a towel.

“Adam Hunt was on the list.” Oliver says succinctly before strapping on his quiver and starting his routine with the tennis balls. “And just because I didn’t feel the need to kill him for what he’s done to this city, that doesn’t mean he gets to keep his freedom.” He adds as he calmly lets loose triple arrows, spearing the balls to the concrete.

“So you arrow a folder full of confidential information on _Felicity Smoak’s_ wall?!”

“Tommy…”

That growl is a warning if Tommy had ever heard one but, alas, he is still very much out of fucks to give! Instead, he takes a deep breath, exhales and repeats a couple of times, unconsciously using the meditative techniques Malcolm had taught him. Tommy doesn’t have to reach for clarity now though - things are already clear enough. So Tommy opens his eyes, looking at the furious way Oliver is loosening one arrow after another, littering the wall with tiny yellow balls. His skill with that bow, shot after shot, seems as effortless as breathing; his precision born of a total mastery of the bow and an intimate knowledge of what it means to shoot it. Tommy is willing to bet Oliver can do this while barely looking – in fact, there is a strange unfocused quality to his friend’s eyes as he keeps shooting, as if he isn’t fully there.

What had he been thinking, really? Oliver from before may have done things impulsively, but not _this_ Oliver… right? Everything Tommy knows and perceives of _this_ Oliver is methodical, calculated. He is so focused on his mission that he can barely see anything else: he is literally pretending to still be _dead_ to the world for fuck’s sake, just so that when he _did_ publicly come back to the living, nobody would be able to tie the vigilante to him. So how can someone who possesses that amount of clarity, that sureness of purpose, be so stupidly blind at the same time?

…But maybe that was just it: Oliver has always been stubborn, but _this_ Oliver, he _redefines_ tunnel vision! And maybe that’s not just because of the focus on the mission and all that. maybe it’s also because, once you get out of the darkness and you have layers and layers of trauma to deal with, the only way to survive daily life is through narrowing it down to manageable levels. And Tommy can sense that about Oliver: the nervous energy, the constant tension. How even the smallest things seem to set him on edge and the only time he seems comfortable in his skin is when he is in action. Tommy can understand that, he truly can, because he’d experienced it himself… but Tommy had never had Oliver’s capacity for compartmentalization and he is sure that, in his own mind, Oliver is keeping his _‘vigilante’_ drawer and his _‘Felicity’_ drawer so very fucking far apart that he honestly can’t see how unbalancing one is going to completely unsettle the other.

Tommy takes a deep breath and tries to explain – slowly, as if he was talking to a toddler.

“Oliver… you just put yourself – put _the Hood_ – in Felicity Smoak’s line of sight!” How the hell does he hope to keep his identity a secret if he dangles it in front of someone like _her_? Oliver has been away a while, maybe he doesn’t know what Felicity is truly capable of after so many years, but he does know how she gets when she sees something that challenges her intellect. “You don’t give someone with Felicity’s brainpower and resources a reason to be curious, _ever_! That girl’s favorite hobby is dismantling mysteries and it’s not like you can put an arrow through her if… ”

Oliver turns, gives Tommy a glare that could curdle blood, _daring_ him to finish that sentence while he still has an arrow notched on his bow… and just like that, Oliver wins Tommy’s argument for him.

“My point exactly! So what the hell were you thinking? … _Were_ you thinking?” but just as he says the words, a suspicion creeps in Tommy’s brain. An illumination really, so perfectly obvious that Tommy calls himself an idiot for not having thought of it sooner. There are only two things at this point in time that can make Oliver act irrationally or go against his own plans: Thea …and Felicity. The truth is that Oliver didn’t cared anything about Adam Hunt as an individual: the Hood had taken back the money that Hunt owed to the city – plus 100% interest, thank you very much - put it back where it belonged and called his mission complete (with a side of fatal threats if Adam Hunt ever thought of repeating his dealings again). But _Felicity_ had cared. She called Adam a criminal and a thief – she had been willing to stand up in a court of law to see him behind bars. _That’s_ why that file had ended up on her desk: because _she_ had cared. It was something _Felicity_ had wanted and that made the difference to Oliver in a way little else could. Because he can’t be with her, can he, so giving her something so small, something she _wants_ , hadn’t been something Oliver could really avoid doing. It probably hadn’t even registered as a threat - and if it had, it hadn’t mattered.

Tommy knows how that feels. After all, he had thrown a whole gala just to give Laurel something she wanted a couple of years ago…

“Do you want her to find out?” Tommy asks cautiously.

“No!” the answer is so immediate, the spike of panic in Oliver’s voice so real and unexpected that Tommy doesn’t doubt him for a second. Which makes the Hood having any kind of contact with Felicity all-kinds of stupid…

Tommy plants his ass on a chair, thoroughly tired of this argument. “You just can’t leave her alone, can you?”

Oliver pauses, his hand stopping mid-reach for his next arrow. His answer is a long, exhausted sigh. The words though, they come after such a long moment of silence that Tommy has almost given up on Oliver saying anything.

“No, I guess not.”

Tommy runs a hand through his hair, as if pulling it out by the roots will solve him anything. It doesn’t, of course. The guilt he hears in Oliver’s voice, that almost undetectable layer of anguish that seems to taint his every Felicity-centered thought, knocks Tommy out of his anger and frustration and not for the first time, he finds himself wishing he could tell Laurel that this idiot was back in town. She would know what to do here… or maybe not. Laurel would probably hit Oliver over the head with something heavy, but Oliver’s rock-hard head could take that. It wouldn’t even budge him. No, the one who had the highest chances of getting through to Oliver is be Felicity and coincidentally, she is the core of the problem here…

_Or the solution to it…_

Tommy flinches from that thought as if it burns him. He _hates_ that he can’t seem to shake Malcolm off, that the man lingers on him like a bad stench, his voice slithering its way into Tommy’s thoughts like the hiss of a snake. In moments like these Tommy feels especially tainted by the Magician’s influence… but his lessons are branded on Tommy’s skin and he can no more forget them than he can forget his own name. He cannot escape his own history, because it has shaped him into the man he is today. So yes, it probably is the lowest of low to use the people a broken man loves against him… but maybe it will be forgiven, if it is done to help him… right?

The problem – the _real_ problem, is not Felicity, but the fact that Oliver, though back from that Island, is still dead to the world in all the ways that matter, and nothing Tommy had tried had been able to change that… but admittedly, Tommy has played (mainly) fair until now. He hasn’t used the Thea/Felicity-card for a couple of reasons; the main one being that, in all honesty, Tommy doesn’t trust Oliver to be balanced enough to handle it safely. And also because Tommy recognizes a simple truth: that no matter what Oliver feels - for Felicity, or Thea or his mother - no matter how much he misses them, _they_ are not the reason Oliver has come back to Starling. Oliver came back as a man with a mission and that mission is the first of his priorities. Or at least that’s what Tommy had thought, until Laurel called him 7 hours ago. Now he is starting to think that maybe Oliver has overestimated his own endurance: being close to the people he loved, and staying a world apart from them at the same time is starting to chink his armor.

And all Tommy needs is that chink. He might hate himself for thinking so predatorily, but he is willing to do whatever it takes to bring his friend back – _truly_ , this time.

In the interest of fully disclosure (so it’s easier to hamper on the guilt later, if this goes sideways) Tommy admits to himself that he still thinks Oliver is unbalanced as fuck, and probably suffering from some kind of compound-trauma. It would _still_ be safer to keep Felicity out of it, but Oliver broke that rule himself first by making contact with her, so in Tommy’s mind, Felicity is fair game now.

+

They spar for a couple of hours, going at each other hard, practicing off each other’s forms and style. It is its own kind of dialogue – with Ollie, this was actually way more fluid: he talks more with his fists than he does with his mouth anyway. They have been trained by different people and with different techniques but the similarities are there: neither Tommy nor Oliver know how to hold back. All out and just a breath short of lethal is the only way they know how to train. Malcolm used to like throwing Tommy in fighting pits with ten different opponents, all against one another; Oliver was used to being hyper-aware of his surroundings because he was probably used to being attacked from all sides, with anything at hand. So yeah, half the exercise is trying to control the hits, so they don’t break each other’s bones when a blow lands.

But it’s not because he is tired that Tommy is still lying on the mats 20 minutes after they have called it a day. Laying there spread eagle, he is trying to come up with a way of starting the conversation. After a long while of coming up blank Tommy asks himself what would Felicity do… and the answer comes to him easily: she’d just blurt it out, no games, no pretenses.

And just as Tommy realizes that, he knows it will work. Her candid nature had been (is?) the reason Oliver likes her so much in the first place.

“Do you remember the first time you saw her, Ollie?”

Oliver doesn’t answer, but Tommy knows he’d been heard even though the only sign of it is a layer of tension settling on his shoulders. Of course Oliver heard him – Oliver hears everything, even if it is over the sound of a sharpening a knife in his hands.

“We were with Laurel and Sara in that coffee-shop Laurel liked, remember? Summer had just started. And you weren't bored exactly, but there was this ‘ _I-could-care-less’_ air of general douchebagery about you that day.” Tommy chuckles, Felicity’s face floating before him, pale and cute and hiding beneath dark hair and dark makeup, with guarded eyes and full lips that rarely smiled.

He has to admit, he likes the new Felicity a lot better.

“But then Sara brings Felicity over and you take _one_ look at her and I swear, the way you snapped out of it was so absurdly obvious, I wonder how the hell everyone else missed it."

Oliver exhales a slow breath. Controlled, forcefully calm.

"No one else is you, Tommy." Oliver finally says, voice steady, but pitched lower because there are some things even Oliver can’t control and one of those are his own emotions. Before, they always used to creep up on him and hit him over the head when he least expected it, because Ollie never knew how to deal with them. 5 years of various degrees of hell have not changed that; now he’s just better at compartmentalizing them.

Tommy scoffs. “Yeah, I’m pretty special, but that has nothing to do with it. The only reason the girls missed it was because they weren’t paying attention to you.”

They had been too busy glaring: Laurel at Felicity, Sara at Laurel. God, how they had resented each other back then! Tommy is infinitely glad that had changed.

Oliver shakes his head with a sigh. "Even if they had been paying attention, it wouldn’t have mattered. My noticing a beautiful girl wasn’t exactly new."

Tommy begs to differ on that account. He knows how Ollie used to react to women he was interested in: all smooth and charming - a real player. It had been a practiced act, like muscle memory. It hadn’t been less real only because it was superficial, because Oliver before the island used to love keeping himself shallow and uncomplicated - and that pattern extended to every aspect of his life. (Never let it be said that Oliver Queen half-assed anything!) Felicity though, she had deviated from his pattern in every way, and shocked the hell out of Oliver, while she was at it. Tommy still has it in him to chuckle when he remembers how Ollie had floundered at the sight of tiny Felicity Smoak. He can just imagine Oliver's brain flailing: the honest part if it completely alight in interests, while the part where habits were registered wondered, panicking, _'what the fuck is happening?!!_ ’

But the truly extraordinary thing had not been the initial reaction, as much as the fact that it _kept happening_ , over and over. Even now, Oliver isn’t immune to it – to _her_ (if anything, he is worse): the two times Tommy has been with him when Oliver has caught sight of her have proved that. He followed her with the minimal amount of blinking, shoulders rigid and the tips of his fingers rubbing together absentmindedly. Personally, Tommy finds it borderline obscene and he is willing to beat some sense into his friend to get Ollie to see that... _but let’s try it with actual words first._

"Yeah, you reacting to a pretty girl wasn’t that special, but it really surprised me that you reacted that way about _her_ , specifically.” Tommy continues, giving Oliver's profile a small smirk. "Goth and edgy was never your type."

Tommy knows he's playing with fire here: Oliver's jaw clenches, his shoulders roll with tightly contained aggression and the way he is gripping that knife is not reassuring at all. But what Oliver murmurs, almost to himself, is still as honest as ever.

"I never had a type."

For so few words, Oliver really manages to cram an impressive amount of guilt and shame in there, as well as a healthy dose of threat to drop the subject. Tommy barely keeps from rolling his eyes.

_'Ollie, why do you even try?'_

"Huh. If you say so." Tommy says with a shrug.

The silence between them lays heavy, sliced only by the sound of the knife grinding against the whetstone. The action irritates Tommy a little bit because he knows Oliver is doing this out of sheer stubbornness. ‘ _Put the fucking knife down’_ he wants to growl. ‘ _We’re talking about the woman you love here; show some respect_.’ But of course Oliver won’t. The person he is trying to convince himself he is wouldn’t do that. The Hood, the vigilante, he doesn’t care about things like that. He doesn’t love either. It a load of bullshit, in Tommy’s opinion, and not only because it’s obviously a lie: the fine tremor of Oliver's right hand is proof of it.

Tommy takes a deep breath and steels himself for what he’s about to say. He keeps his voice soft, gentle almost, approaching Oliver with the subject like one would a wounded vicious predator trapped in a corner: really fucking carefully.

"You still love her… don’t you?"

Oliver goes unnaturally still, his shoulders tense, his whole stance shifts without him even realizing – physically preparing to be attacked. The tension feels so thick in the air between them that Tommy knows, if he so much as twitches the wrong way, something really bad will happen, so he keeps utterly still. There are rules against pulling this sort of bullshit and they are simple: you _don’t_! You don’t say shit like that out loud; and _if_ you’re stupid enough to say it anyway, don’t you dare be flippant about it because it might land you with broken bones. In comparison to Oliver right now, Tommy is a pillar of stability and cool-headedness, so no, it isn’t terribly smart poking him like this. But the point here is precisely to damage Oliver’s ever-so-tiny comfort zone (and yes, Tommy does feel guilty about doing it, cause he isn’t fucking heartless, but it is for a good cause). So Tommy holds Oliver’s glare without wincing, without blinking. Unapologetic.

It’s not really a question, anyway. They both know the answer, but Oliver probably hasn't heard the truth of his feelings spoken aloud in a long time. Tommy doubts it is even a conscious thought in his head. Oliver is so hell-bent on this crusade of his that he doesn’t allow himself room for anything else. And in all fairness, Tommy can see the pint of it; it’s self-defense, because there's something unbelievably vulnerable about the way those words hang in the air, even if they’re only in your head – and vulnerability is intolerable when you feel like you’ll unravel the second you stop having everything under tight wraps. When you’re made of broken pieces and missing pieces, and none of the parts you have left fit together anymore, the only thing holding you together is the will not to fall apart – lose that, and you’re fucked. Tommy knows that feeling. It really hasn’t been that long ago when, if he but dared to imagine saying _'I love Laurel'_ , even if only to himself, something in him shriveled in instant anxiety. The emotion those words encompassed was too big for him. Even in his good days, his skin used to feel like it was stretched too tightly over his bones; admitting to love would have undone him, send him running. Tommy has no doubt as he watches his best friend go still as rock, that it feels exactly like that to Oliver right now.

To Tommy’s surprise though, Oliver looks away and sighs deeply, his shoulders sagging and one hand comes to rub his eyelids, as if every moment of this conversation is actually physically hurting him.

"It doesn’t matter how I feel." Oliver finally admits, sounding drained. "You _know_ that Tommy. You should understand that better than anyone. Because of what I do, what I intend to _keep_ doing, I can never be with her."

"You won’t be the green-leather Robin Hood forever, Oliver. Your father's list is not infinite."

Oliver gets up from his seat so fast that his movements are a blur.

"I can’t afford to think that way right now." He snaps, for the first time unraveling his temper. "I can’t afford to think that way, _period!_ I could die tonight in that warehouse, or tomorrow in some dark alley. I don’t know _anything_ beyond this!"

And by now he was outright yelling, and Tommy knows that he has pushed too far, even though this is exactly what he'd wanted.

"How is she going to feel about me dropping bodies left and right, Tommy? Or about making everyone believe I was dead when I could have just gone home! If she cares even the tiniest bit for me, how do you think that will make her feel?"

Tommy flinches. Ok, so maybe he hasn’t thought that far. It very well was possible that Felicity might never forgive Oliver for a lot of things (and knowing Felicity, she probably never would forgive the whole ‘I wasn’t dead, sorry I didn’t tell you’ thing, which is… problematic, to say the least). But that was not the point.

"I don’t know. I don’t know how she would feel or what she will do, and neither do you. _That’s_ exactly my point." Tommy insists… and strangely enough, that brings a small sad smile on Oliver’s face.

“I _do_ know.” Oliver murmured, looking at the arrowhead. “There are some things that don’t change in people, and the one thing that will never change about Felicity is that there is nothing she values more than trust. I was right there when she gave up everything for the sake of it. And _this_ – me hiding in this hole… There are a lot of things I’ve done that are unforgivable, but _this_ I am _sure_ she will never…”

Oliver’s voice breaks and he purses his lips to hold the words in. For a moment he looks well and truly pissed and Tommy think he’s going to march over and start hitting him again. But instead Oliver goes for the training dummy in the corner, attaching it with such viciousness that Tommy flinches. He feels the shame well in himself for hurting one of the people he holds dearest when he’s already feeling down, but he is not sorry. This _has_ to work, he tells himself. It _has_ to.

It _will_!

+

In the end, Felicity needn’t have seated the news of her new connection in green leather, because Laurel took care of it for her.

Within the five hours window from the moment Felicity had dropped that file on Laurel’s metaphorical doorstep to when she showed up for the impromptu dinner, Laurel freaking Lance has managed to file a suit against Adam Hunt, Jason Brodeur and Martin Sommers, using the information Felicity handed her. And of course, since all one had to do at the DA’s office to get information was shake a few greens at the right person, the news was out about one hour after the suit was filed and now it was all over the new channels.

 _“…Miss Lance, who earlier this year tried to bring Martin Sommers to court to answer, among many other of the allegations, for ties with organize crime, seems not to have learned from her experience. Or maybe she has._ _…Sources within the District Attorney’s Office say that Miss Lance now is now charges_ _Adam Hunt, Jason Brodeur and Martin Sommers of criminal activities on a national scale - backing it up with internal financial reports, bank records and emails - annotations almost as long as the suit itself…”_

“He’ll call it a personal vendetta but it won’t work.” Laurel says calmly, sipping at her glass of wine while Felicity, Tommy – ever the improvised guest, Donna and Quentin all stare a little bit disbelieving at the screen. “DA can’t ignore banking and securities fraud like this. The police can’t ignore the organized crime stuff. They’ll both have to investigate. We’ll be back in court, but this time it’ll cost _him_.”

“It’s not just Hunt you’re after though.” Tommy points out, and Laurel shrugs.

“I’ll take whatever I can get. And there was enough evidence in that file to take all three of them down, not just Hunt.”

And that gets Quentin’s attention. By the time he is asking about where she got her evidence, Felicity has steeled herself to tell the whole story… and by the time she is done with it, Quentin Lance is in state. And Felicity can’t tell if he is angry, or scared or frantic. Emotions just come and go on his face… but the predominant one seems to be anger.

That’s how Lances deal with stuff, isn’t it?

But instead of Felicity, he turns it on Laurel.

“So let me get this straight, now that that idiot in green leather has involved Felicity in his stupidity, you go and drag some of the most dangerous men in the city to court?! Are you _nuts_!”

Laurel frown immediately. “I have evidence to put them behind bars for consecutive lifetimes! I am a _layer_ , this is what I _do_. This has nothing to do with the Hood, or Felicity for that matter!”

Quentin slaps his hand on the table hard. “Martin Sommers is _Triad_ , Laurel! If you think this starts and ends in a courtroom, you’re delusional! Just the right bribe and everyone will know where you got your information and what do you think is gonna happen next?!”

Laurel snorts. “The Hood can take care of himself, clearly.”

“I’m not talking about the god dammed Hood, Laurel!”

But they never got to know what exactly Quentin Lance was talking about because someone crashes through the window right in front of them, and before Felicity knows what’s happening, shots are being fired and the tables is overturned and she ends up on the floor. Everything happens so fast that she barely registers. There is shouting and then not, and then sounds of a fight. Tommy drags her to a corner and then he disappears to the kitchen and Felicity thinks she imagines the silver flash of a knife in his hands but she can’t be sure of anything in those moments. She sits in front of her mother and tries to grab Laurel, but Laurel’s hands slips through her fingers like water and then she’s gone.

Everything ends just about as fast as it begun and Felicity is still reeling when she finds herself face to face with Digg, his eyebrow split and bleeding, his knuckles ripped open.

“Are you ok? Felicity, look at me: Are you ok? Are you hurt anywhere?”

It’s his urgency that grounds her, his steady hands that touch her looking for an injury that isn’t there.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, really.” She says, but tis a breathy sound. “Mom! Laurel!”

“I’m fine baby. Laurel is fine too.” Donna says from right beside her, and finally Felicity has the presence of mind to get up.

The whole living room is in pieces, its like a tornado passed through. Tommy is holding Laurel close, a look so fierce on his face that it makes him look almost like a different person. Quentin hugs her tight, telling her everything would be fine but Felicity registers it distantly. Over her stepfathers shoulder thought, she sees Tommy and Digg exchange a strange, charged glance. She cant really think of what it means, can’t possibly know.

“What happened? Who was that?”

For a horrible moment, she thinks it really was the Hood and that he really meant to hurt her. The possibility that he would go after her family too had never glanced her before, but now she is truly afraid… and there is anger gathering in the pit of her stomach. How dare he!

“That was China White’s assassin.” Quentin says calmly as he steps back from her. “That, was the Triad.”

By the time the night is over, both Laurel and Felicity are under police protection and there is not a dag damned thing any of them can do about it.

 

[1] Because this quote is so utterly _Felicity_ to me. It reminded me of an interview EBR gave, when she said that Felicity is very brave and she faces her fears, and they don’t go away either, she just keeps facing them, because she is that kind of brave.


	6. Cut scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut this from the previous chapter because it seemed like it slowed the pacing a bit.

+

Felicity is in her office when her father calls her. The story he tells her makes her shake a little but she keeps herself from interrupting.

“I’ll be over in 15 minutes.” She tells Quentin Lance and can hear the smile in his voice when he thanks her. Digg notices the change in her though, and he comes stands up from where he had been reading, comes over to her desk.

“Everything alright, Felicity?”

Felicity takes a breath, and then another. Her hand tightens around the red pen she was holding and uses it as a stress-reliever for a couple of moments before putting it back on the jar with the rest of them and getting up to grab her coat.

“That was my dad. Adam Hunt was attacked last night, by the Hood. At eight pm – about two hours before I found that file on my wall.”

Digg’s posture changes, goes immediately more rigid, completely alert.

“Apparently, he took about 20 million from Hunt’s personal accounts – not to mention the _other_ stuff – and SCPD technicians cant even begin to trace the transfer, so my dad is calling in a favor, to see if I can help.”

Digg’s eyes catch hers and hold, and she can read the questions in them. _And are you going to? Do you even want to?_

Felicity really didn’t, to be honest. And probably neither did Quentin. By all intents and purposes that money didn’t even belong to Hunt anyway, so why should she ever help him trace it to wherever the hell they had gone… when most probably they had ended up on the bank accounts of the people he stole them from, if the Hood’s M.O. was anything to go by.

“Felicity… maybe it’s better if you stay out of this.” Digg says cautiously, though he doesn’t stop her from calling up the elevator. “Whatever his intentions to you, the Hood won’t appreciate it much if you get him caught.”

“Yeah, he probably won’t.” Felicity says absently. It earns her a surprised look from Diggle, which quickly turns into a glare.

“Ever heard the expression _‘curiosity killed the cat’_ , Felicity?”

Felicity winced and offered Digg an apologetic smile. Yeah, she’d heard it. But besides this being a favor her stepfather needed, Felicity admits that she is also very much in the need to know how the Hood operates and what exactly are his intentions. And maybe the Hood will never present those things to her, because he has no reason to, but if there was one thing Felicity knew to be true, is that people can lie, but computers do not. And in most cases, to someone who speaks the computer-language, the way a person operates whatever electronic system can tell more about them than a soliloquy… and Felicity was definitely fluid in that language.

+

The precinct is in an uproar, but they all make way for Felicity when she shows up. She waves as she goes and Tana actually has a cup of coffee – the _good_ stuff she makes herself, bless her soul - waiting when Felicity gets to her usual desk. After one hour of uninterrupted work – with Digg and Quentin watching over her and snapping with silent glares to anyone who so much as comes close to Felicity’s orbit to interrupt while she is working, she finally comes to the one corner she can’t back out of, without breaking major laws.

“Ok, so… I traced the transfer to a ghost account that was used only once, meaning only last night. The account has no history and the name to which it belongs to is confidential, _but_ I did find out that it’s registered to a Chinese oil plant on the other side of the globe, in Hon Kong. As far as surface data is concerned, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“What do you mean?” Quentin asks, leaning in closer to the screen as if he’s going to get a better explanation there. Felicity waits for him to look at her in the eye again. She is very aware that there are at least 3 other detectives who are paying very close attention to her. Mills smiles encouragingly. He knows she doesn’t like to be scrutinized like this.

“I mean that everything looks shiny and pretty on paper, but without a good long look at their books, accounts and transfers, I can’t really say if it’s a legit business or a shell. And getting that kind of data is…problematic. From this terminal, I could leave prints and those could be traced right back here and before you know, _Boom_! China accuses the US of cyberterrorism, resulting in a major international incident. Not to mention that getting to that data would be… about _36 kinds_ of illegal, cause you know – surgical perusal of private information that is not even close to being within this precinct’s jurisdiction is not exactly the kind of thing you can get warrants for…” Felicity stills, looks around, folding her lips inwards for a moment as she takes in the other three detectives who are paying very close attention to her, and pauses to reflect on the irony of the moment: the hacker surrounded by law enforcement.

“…aaand I’m sitting in a police station, talking about hacking a private company on foreign soil. That… was _not_ supposed to happen.” She turns to level a glare at Quentin, who eyebrows are seemingly trying to climb to his hairline, giving her a look that is both horrified and amused at the same time. “Where is your parental instinct when I need it, o father mine?”

But Quentin only laughs, and surprisingly enough he is followed by the others, and only then does Felicity relax. She likes her father’s colleagues, she does. Many of them a good people too, but sitting in a law enforcement den has never bene her idea of fun and it still gives her the willies.

“Ok! So my good work here is done!” Felicity says as she gets up and snatches her purse. “And yours is too.” She adds then, looking at Quentin Lance in the face.

“Ah…”

“Nope. I seem to remember a promise about a family dinner in exchange for a little pro-bono work, so I you excuse us, Captain,” And she holds up Quentin’s jacket for him to put on (which he doesn’t, even though he’s grumbling the whole time like an angry bulldog). “I’m gonna borrow my father home now, and in exchange for that I won’t bill you for my services tonight.”

Captain Curtis is chuckling under his breath but he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand as they go, and Felicity can’t help but feel relieved as she walks out. The tight ball of energy in her gut warns her that this is not over, and she still has to drop the bomb on Quentin tonight. But knowing that she won’t be alone, that her mother will be there to soften the blow for Quentin and Laurel to hold Felicity’s own corner, makes her feel better about the whole thing.

In the back of her mind, she is already cataloguing what she knows about the Hood at this point. That he is knowledgeable of technology, but he was nowhere near her levels, or even a decent IT person. There had been to traces of coding Hunt’s internal system so the transfer wasn’t the Hood’s work – the program did it for him. The program itself was sophisticated: Felicity had seen that kind of encryption in a couple of projects that Palmer tech was developing for a couple of ì government agencies, so whoever the Hood was, had _at least_ a few connections with those kind of institutions. He might even be trained by them…

But then she realized that she was speculating too hard and that she needed to stop. Felicity caught Digg’s eye in the mirror as he drove her and Quentin home, and the warning that flashed there was enough to make her thoughts find a new track to explore.

She was in enough trouble as it was anyway.


	7. Four.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I write scenes that I delete afterwards, because these characters are fairly new to me, and I kinda practice with them a while until I get in sync with the whole story. Point in fact, I had no idea I would be writing so much from Tommy pov when I started this, yet here he is. Anyway, that was just to explain the random cut scenes I post… which I should probably divide into another fic… right?  
> Yeah, probably.
> 
> anyway, im editing the rest of the chapter and will post it in an hour or so. as always thank you for reading :)

 

**Four.1**

_'I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.'_

_Harper Lee; To Kill a Mockingbird_

Laurel keeps moving around and it is giving Felicity a headache. She is huddle on the couch with her mother while Donna pets her hair, more for her own benefit than Felicity’s. Felicity herself feels like ants are crawling under her skin; she is exhausted but also hyper-conscious of the cops and CSI working evidence, of every single person clammed in there really, and especially aware of the very dead body not even 10 feet from her, on the other side of a flimsy wall.

She winces at that.

“Don’t think about it.” John tells her, his voice warm and low. “We’ll wait for them to get every statement and then get out of here. You can stay at my place, if you want.”

Felicity sighs. “You have Lyla staying over, John.”

But John’s smile is warm. “I still have a guest room for you, Felicity. Lyla will love seeing you.”

Felicity gathers the energy to give him a teasing smile. “Oh, is that so? Does that mean _she_ won’t be using that guest room?”

Digg snorts. “When has she ever?”

Felicity is surprised when a tiny laugh makes its way out of her. Its a bit edgy, but honest, and Digg gives her an encouraging smile. ' _You're doing good_ ' he says silently and she nods. But then she catches Digg’s eye and as she follows it, she is surprised to see that the suspicious, evaluating look is trained on Tommy.

“What is it?” Felicity asks, but John just shakes his head. And Felicity thinks its dropped, but a moment later, when Tommy makes Laurel come sit on the couch beside them and be still for 5 minutes, Digg trains that same look on him.

“Thanks for what you did back there.” he says, sounding casual enough, but the thing is, Felicity knows how Digg sounds when he’s actually thanking someone: this is not it. He is up to something.

Tommy’s plastic smile proves it.

“It was a lucky shot.”

Digg lifts one disbelieving brow.

“That was a kitchen knife, not even weighted properly. And you threw it across a ten foot room, right into her shoulder.” And buried almost to the hilt too. But John doesn’t say that out loud because judging from Felicity’s pale face, she will not appreciate that detail.

“Ahh-I guess I have wicked aim.” Tommy says with a shrug, brows high and eyes wide, trying to look as innocent as possible but only managing to remind Felicity of Thea when she got caught red-handed doing something she _seriously_ shouldn’t be doing and using ‘ _but I thought it was a regular smoke_ ’ as an excuse. Digg doesn’t seem to buy it for a second either, but he lets it drop… for now. Felicity tries to remind herself to ask him later.

That's about when Quentin comes toward them, walking determinedly like a bull going for the red flag.

“Laurel…” he starts

“Dad, we already talked about this.” Laurel snaps, interrupting him, and Felicity has to wonder how she even has the energy to do that after what happened.

“Guys…” she tries, but it doesn’t take.

Donna hears her loud and clear, though.

“ _Alright_ , you too.” She says firmly as she gets up. Quentin stops talking and Laurel’s words die in her mouth for a moment. Donna never raises her voice unless it is on a delighted squeal, so when she does, it is a memorable occasion.

“I have just had what is probably one of the worst nights of my life, so after all the bullets and things smashing, I would appreciate a little bit of quiet.”

Laurel winces and Quentin looks immediately apologetic.

“Donna…”

But Donna Smoak holds a hand up and Quentin stops talking. “I’m sure your argument will keep till morning, Quentin. Right Laurel?”

Laurel crosses her arms over her chest, but doesn’t say anything.

“Preferably after breakfast and lots, _lots_ of coffee.” Donna adds then. “Now, I am going to go pack a bag, and _you_ are coming with me. Let’s go.”

And she grabs Quentin’s hand and takes him upstairs, because only physically removing him from Laurel’s presence is going to shut either of them up. It’s a little secret Smoak women have learned during their life with the Lances.

Silence lingers a bit after her as she goes, even the SCI and policemen looking after the tiny blonde woman who just handled one of Starling City’s most dreaded detectives like a pro.

“Huh. Your mom really knows her way around him.” Digg comments and Felicity can’t help a breathy laugh, just as Laurel falls on the couch again with a small ‘ _Yes, she does, thank god!_ ’

“He’s not wrong, Laurel.” Tommy murmurs softly, immediately drawing Laurel’s attention eyes to himself, expression almost betrayed.

“What are you saying, Tommy?” and it’s not a challenge. It’s a question so defenseless that it almost hurts Tommy to answer it, because he sees her disbelief, the tiny twinge of hurt in her eyes when she thinks he might doubt her the way her father always does.

Tommy presses forward, determined.

“I’m telling you that you need to be careful, because this is unlike anything you’ve faced before. The Triad has their own rules and they don’t bend for anyone.”

Laurel tightens her jaw, working on not snapping at Tommy because he is about the only person that has never once hesitated in choosing her first.

“I know that. I _will_ be careful, but this city is already filled with too many people who have given up on it. I won’t be one of them Tommy. This is _our_ city these people are running, and I’m going to fight for it with _everything_ I’ve got. I won’t bend on this either.”

Tommy stops, takes a moment to still back and just look, to appreciate the absolute fierceness of this woman he is in love with… and when he shakes his head a little, smiling and Laurel’s eyes light up for him in a way that makes him want to kiss her right there in front of everyone and not give a damn.

“You’re not fighting alone Laurel.” Felicity says softly, taking Laurel’s hand and squeezing, her eyes are serious and shiny with understanding and something very much like dread too. “You're doing the right thing, and we know that. So does your dad. He’s just scared for you.”

“I sense a _'but'_ coming.” Laurel encourages, eyes softer than before. Felicity gives her an reluctant smile.

“But… try not to forget what happens to things that don’t bend, ok.”

Laurel’s lips fall a little open with surprise and immediate understanding. Because things that don’t bend: they either fall or break, and Laurel purses her mouth and nods, squeezing back the hand that is still wrapped around hers, before she lets go.

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any quotes you regognise are not mine. I think i used one from the show - Thea's about the aim thing, cause i like being cute that way. and the one from game of thrones, when danny asks 'and what happens to things that dont bend', cause lets face it, that was awsome.


	8. Four.2

   
 **Four.2**

_'The paradox is that, part of what binds us closest together and makes it true that no man is an island, is the knowledge that in another way every man is an island. Because to know this is to know that not only deep in you is there a self that longs to be known and accepted, but that there is also such a self in me, in everyone else the world over._

_So when we meet as strangers, when even friends look like strangers, it is good to remember that we need each other greatly you and I, more than much of the time we dare to imagine, more than more of the time we dare to admit.'_

_Frederick Buechner_

After Tommy makes sure that Laurel is unlikely to wake if he moves, he snatches his phone and tries to contact Oliver - knowing that it’s a useless attempt, but having to try anyways. The phone rings and rings and all Tommy can see is Oliver, probably running on rooftops,fighting China White, or putting arrows in her throat, or just snapping her neck.

There are a thousand ways to kill someone; Tommy personally knows about 13 that only require his bare hands. But the knife buried in China White’s shoulder had been deliberate on his part, not a happy accident: Tommy did not survived three years of hellish torture just to yield now. His life those three years would have been so much easier if Tommy had allowed himself to become a murderer. He would have escaped that much sooner. But he hadn't. Personally, Tommy still is not sure of what had stopped him. Taking a life had been the last lesson the Magician had tried to teach him and out of pride perhaps, Malcolm had always left Tommy a choice. It had been important to him: the _choice_ to kill.

_Fucking egomaniac._

Most days Tommy believes he had resisted because killing would have been Malcolm’s final victory; the last piece of Tommy Merlyn that the Magician had wanted to strip away. Perhaps it had been out of sheer malice, _anger_ and pure defiance, that Tommy had wanted to deny him that. There are times though, rare times, when he feels like a good man and can bring himself to believe that it was more than that. That he had fought so hard because he had wanted to keep every piece of his soul he could afford to hold on to. Back then, between the betrayal, the pain and the anger, that last piece of him had seemed to sell for so little. The very last inch of him left; but within that inch, Tommy had been free and it had been the only freedom he had known for three years. A _choice_ …

He had not let go of it then, and he would not now. Not for anything.

_I am_ not _my father's creature! …I am my_ _mother's_ _son._

Tonight though, seeing that woman aim her gun directly above Laurel's heart had snapped something in him and Tommy had known, without any manner of doubt in his heart, that if his soul were in the balance with Laurels life… he would chose Laurel. He hadn't hesitated, hadn't doubted it. He had chosen to act differently, yes, but he would have killed that white-haired woman if he had to.

That kind of clarity is... frightening. Now, in the darkness of their apartment, with Laurel sleeping safely in their room, Tommy wonders if there is some truth to what Malcolm believed: that perhaps there really is a killer in every man and all it takes to uncover him is the right incentive. ( _and thank god Malcolm had never understood Tommy well enough to find that button_.)

But that grain of truth is also why Tommy knows that there is be no crevice or hole Chine White can crawl into tonight, that will hide her from the Hood’s retribution.

Oliver is no stranger to killing ( _sometimes his familiarity with it makes a certain shiver crawl up Tommy’s spine_ ) but he has never killed in direct retribution for as long as Tommy has been with him since his return… but then again, Felicity has never been involved before. And if knowing that the Triad has a bullet with Laurel’s name on it had almost made Tommy snap… well, three guesses what the mere possibility of the same thing happening to Felicity will make Oliver do.

Yeah, China White is probably already dead. (t _he possibility that she might have killed Oliver never even crosses Tommy's mind_ ) Generally, Oliver is restrained in the violence he provokes in others; focused. Oh, he is capable of brutality the likes of which Tommy has rarely seen before, but he is never needlessly cruel. Oliver is calculating and even cold, but not sadistic; he is not sorry for killing, but he takes no kind of pleasure from it either. The Hood has never made his targets suffer a painful death, not even the worst of them. But Tommy knows that Oliver has the capacity for that kind of coldness; he can see it in his friend's eyes, in the lurking darkness that sometimes overtakes them. There was no doubt in Tommy's mind that Oliver was fully capable of inflicting maximum damage on someone methodically, patiently. And maybe that's what he’s doing to the assassin that had almost put a bullet through Felicity Smoak.

Tommy redials for the third time, the ring echoing into the void, unanswered.

Whatever his friend had been through in these last 5 years, has broken him into a person that sometimes Tommy barely recognizes. There is something dark and twisted Oliver now; a rage that feels implacable and makes it very hard to see what’s beneath it, if there is anything of his old friend left in there at all. But if there was, if there was any kind of hope left in Oliver, it was very closely entwined with the people he loved. And Tommy knew that the only way Oliver feels he _can_ love without damaging people closest to him, is by protecting them.

The ring gets cut off, the call goes into voicemail again. Tommy didn’t expect Oliver to pick up, not really, but having confirmation of it makes a heavy weight settle in his stomach.

The next morning, the news was all over every channel in the city, and a couple of international ones too: China White, suspected leader of the Triad and implicated in a dozen hits around the world, was found dead in the docks of Starling City, 10 of her people badly wounded, 3 of them dead. They give a recount of her injuries ( _three broken ribs, multiple bruises and a stab wound on her shoulder_ ) and Tommy is relieved to deduce that the fight that been vicious, but quick. Efficient to the last, as was Oliver’s style… but not as controlled as he usually is: China White’s neck had been snapped so viciously that her collarbone poked from out of the skin grotesquely. She was the only one that didn’t have a single arrow in her body. (… _not nearly as detached as usual, either_.)

+

Navigating the press coverage of the Triads case that Laurel was heading is like trying to steer through a storm, but thankfully Felicity avoids the worst of it. Laurel however is right in the eye of the storm and she is eating it up, crusading like she is born for it… and maybe she is. Eventually Felicity convinces herself that the Hood wanted nothing bad to do with her and, though Digg gets another friend of his on duty to shadow her during the day, the police blanket on her gets lifted ( _with much reluctance from Quentin, obviously, cause the man has the pigheaded of… well, of a stone wall, perhaps_.)

In the end, the most exciting thing that happens to her those two weeks after the attempted assassination on Laurel is the fact that Walter, during one of their lunches with Thea, makes Felicity promise that she would not, for any reason, visit the warehouse that Tempest had bought in Starling. He made her promise twice, and then he promised back that he would explain everything once he knew more. She didn’t have a chance to ask anything more about it because Thea came back from the ladies room and all Felicity could do was talk about how much she wanted to visit Australia, but she never would because kangaroos wigged her out and they were probably everywhere down there. Walter smiles tightly, promising to scoop the place out for her.

And then, just when Felicity starts to think that the excitement in her life is finally over, she has another very close and personal meeting with bullets through windows.

Yes, this is officially her life now: secret presents from the vigilante, Triad assassins and shootouts. The question that rises in these cases is obviously ' _How the frack_!?' but apparently that didn’t seem to matter to the universe.

Oh, and another thing movies don’t prepare you for: getting shot in any kind of capacity - it freaking _hurts_!

+

“I really don’t see how you have a choice here.” Tommy says, raising his voice over the incessant thuds of Oliver's fists on the practice dummy. If he keeps at this, he will have to replace the thing – _again_! That’s how he’d been dealing these past two weeks: breaking practice dummies and living more under that hood and out of it.

‘ _Keeps my ears warm.’_

Tommy snorts at the memory. _Cheeky fucker._

And also, ‘dealing’ is too generous a term for what Oliver is doing. Tommy and Laurel are dealing: Laurel by throwing herself into her cases and locking up slimy fuckers like nobody's business. Tommy by going full-on mother hen on her ( _and setting up the kind of security in and around her house that would make the Fort Knox proud_ ), which Laurel found by turns endearing and irritating, depending on her mood. Felicity is dealing, by working her ass off harder than ever.

Oliver most definitely is _not_ dealing. In fact, not only was he empathetically _not dealing_ , but it’s as if he has no idea how.

He hasn’t said anything of course (w _hy would he? He is too busy being a brooding, growling asshole!_ ), but Tommy is not blind: Oliver is more brutal than ever on the field, the accumulating anger exploding out of him. When he is not punching things, or training, he is sitting in a corner, self-loathing expression painted on his face like a mask, forgetting time and company. Because, as Tommy had predicted, Oliver had found a way to blame himself for what had happened with the Triad, so now every time Felicity’s name is mentioned, he looks ready to punch a hole through the closest wall; or Tommy’s head, on occasion. In two weeks he has barely strung more than 12 words together and quite frankly, it is driving Tommy at the end of his rope. He has no idea what to do, how to handle this. Oliver isn’t the kind of person you _handle_ anyway, not usually - and even less when he is like this. He is more like a sword without a hit: there is just no way to get to him without him splitting yourself in two.

For a while Tommy had let it be, but now there seems to be no way around it: after killing Holder and almost getting Oliver killed too with a poison-laced bullet, Deadshot had slipped through Oliver’s fingers, leaving behind only a shot up laptop. At Oliver’s request, Tommy had tried to ( _discretely_ ) get someone from Merlyn Global’s IT department look it over, but no technician in there could tell him anything more than ‘ _sorry, this one’s friend_ ’. So when Tommy had – rightfully! - suggested Felicity - aptly standing 15 feet away and ready to catch whatever Oliver threw at him. Predictably, Oliver had given him a glare that could curdle milk.

“We know that he is targeting the potential buyers of Unidac Industries.” Oliver says through gritted teeth. “We know the auction is tonight, in four hours, and we know where. We’ll be ready for him.”

Tommy narrows his eyes. “You keep saying ‘ _we_ ’. I don’t remember agreeing to be your sidekick.”

And this time Oliver does meet his eye, and the calmness Tommy sees there sets him on edge. He doesn’t like it when Oliver looks at him like he is a target.

“The Exchange Building is surrounded by three towers with eye-lines into the building. Lawton can get his killshot off from virtually anywhere. I can’t cover the whole area alone Tommy.”

It’s as close to ‘ _I need your help_ ’ as Oliver is ever going to get and Tommy knows it, but that’s not the point. He doesn’t share Oliver’s mission and he doesn’t agree with the Hood’s methods ( _and that is putting it fucking lightly_ ), but this is not about that stupid list and crossing names off it. This is about protecting innocent people from a hired assassin, and that’s who Tommy finds that, yeah if that is the case, he doesn’t exactly mind stepping in. It’s a surprise to him that he feels that way, but apparently not to Oliver, the smug bastard.

The understanding passes between them silently, and at that pint even Tommy’s small nod is superfluous: they already said everything there was to say in a look.

“You should think about enrolling Lance too.” Tommy mentions casually. “Even with the two of us, someone inside the auction needs to provide security and crowd control if something happens.”

Oliver nods. “Already have.”

This gives Tommy considerable pause. It’s is a bit of a deviation from pattern: Oliver doesn’t like people interfering. It had taken him a month before he relaxed into the idea of Tommy so much as _visiting_ the Foundry, even if it was to occasionally spar, or share a meal, or try to talk. But he doesn’t comment further than a small hum. He knows Oliver is planning something – beyond this one mission, that is. But though the secretive bastard does share that part, as far as strategy is concerned they put their heads together and come up with a pretty decent plan. When they set out, both in their respective camouflages ( _Oliver in his green suit and Tommy in his tux, a choice that is almost ironic, on both their parts_ ), they do so thinking they are ready.

But not as ready as they should have been, apparently. Which is probably why they end up with an armful of bleeding Felicity Smoak barely two hours later.

+

Things go to hell surprisingly fast.

Tommy is used to speed and strength and relying on his trained reflexes, but at most, he has had to watch out for only one person ( _Malcolm’s lesson had never included the protection of anyone but himself, but that is not the point. It is not technique or training Tommy finds himself lacking_ ). When the bullets start flying and people start screaming, the confusion of the crowd makes it difficult to actively _do_ anything that feels truly productive. Anticipating this, ( _and paranoid because,_ goddamnit _, Thea was not supposed to be there_!) Tommy had been steering her and Moira away from the windows for the last 10 minutes.

“Tommy, where?”

It’s irritating how _even_ Oliver’s voice is in his ear.

“Southwest.” Tommy murmurs as keeps pushing both Thea and Moira towards the back of the room. “Between the twentieth and twenty second floor probably.”

“Got him. Get my sister and my mother outa there Tommy.” He hears Oliver say before the rush of wind blocks his voice. He was supposed to keep an eye on Walter, but - as he tells Moira while urging her to walk faster - Walter is already safely out, with the police. Tommy escorts both Queen women out and patiently waits in the cordoned area. He holds on to Thea tightly the whole time, one arm wrapped around her shoulders: she is still shaking. Over the coms he can hear Oliver’s clash with Deadshot, and silently urges Oliver to make it quick. The sooner he gets out of here the better, because in a few more minutes this whole blocks is gonna be crawling with cops.

It’s not that surprising that the assassin seems to think he and Oliver are in the same line of work, but the way Oliver’s response is borderline indignant, proves to Tommy that whatever the outward appearance, Oliver had quite a lot to say about the things he did and how he did them. Whatever his actions, there is no doubt in Tommy’s mind that Oliver is convinced he is doing the right thing. And that makes Tommy wonder, not for the first time, about what kind of pitfalls of humanity Oliver has witnessed to make him think that these kinds of drastic measures are the right way to go.

"Police will storm the building soon.” Tommy murmurs as he fakes a cough.

“I’m already out.” Oliver grunts, and then. “Thank you, Tommy.” And they both know that Oliver doesn’t only mean than you for identifying the angle of the shot as fast as he did and sending him to the right location.

Tommy’s lips curve into a smile… which is about the time when Thea jerks out of his arms and _runs_. Tommy doesn’t actively stop her, but he turns fully intending on following to wherever it is she is going. And then, when one word out of Thea’s mouth stops him.

“ _Felicity!_ ”

And whatever Tommy was about to yell at Thea for running away from him freezes in his throat. Because there Felicity is, on the back on an ambulance, one sleeve ripped off and a thick bandage around her upper arm, with John Diggle standing like a tower to her left, not exactly fussing but not allowing her out of his sight either. Tommy has no idea how the fuck he missed her before: she is like a freaking beacon in that flaming red dress, shivering and looking pale as a sheet.

At the sound of Thea's voice, Felicity jerks in her direction and a moment later she is out of the ambulance and they are hugging. Felicity looks at him with misty eyes once he reaches them, looking both shell-shocked and relieved and afraid.

“Are you… Oh god, you’re hurt!” and this is the first time Thea’s voice shakes, thick with tears and fear.

“Yes I am. I mean, I was.” Felicity says with a smile, though she is pale and her lips tremble a little. “Bummer too: I really liked this dress.”

“ _Felicity_!” Thea’s tone is admonishing and scared, and it makes Felicity’s eyes soften. She reaches to Thea, smoothing her curs from her face with one hand in a gesture that is so familiar it makes Tommy’s breath catch.

“I’m ok, Thea.” Felicity reassures the other girl, but its an empty promise.

“Tommy…”

Oliver's voice carries the kind of tremulous uncertainty that is entirely foreign on his vigilante persona, and it makes Tommy’s hair stand on its end.

“Felicity, was it the glass or a bullet.” Tommy asks, and there must be something that gives away the gravity of the situation in his voice or in his face, because Felicity stills, eyes fixed on his.

She shakes her head, confused. “I’m not… sure…”

“Bullet.” John Diggle answers for her, hand on her shoulder. “Got her out of the way, but not fast enough.”

Tommy bites back the curse that, on the other side of the line, Oliver lets flow freely. Among them Tommy thinks he makes out the word ‘ _distraction_ ’ but he can’t be sure. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Oliver is going to do, though: Oliver – every version of Oliver, even the ones Tommy doesn’t immediately associate with his childhood friend – was amazingly predictable when it came to Felicity Smoak. Tommy eyes John Diggle carefully, hoping that distraction Oliver muttered about is a freaking good one, ‘cause that man has hardly blinked away from Felicity, keeping her in his radar like she is his reason for breathing. But just as Tommy comes up with that thought, the twenty-second floor of the building across the street explodes in cacophony of light and fire, rising a new wave of panic among people and policemen both. Tommy grabs Thea and covers her with his body from the flying debris, while Diggle does the same thing with Felicity. In that split second when everyone ducks and the lights of the street flicker on and off, Tommy senses a shadow move towards them. He knows who it is, but it still takes all of his self control not to tense for a blow. ( _Instincts are harder to master once pain has drilled them into your bones_ , the magician’s sly voice reminds him, making Tommy gritty his teeth.)

Oliver has Diggle in a choke-hold and dropping down in less than a moment. The next moment he is gone, and Felicity with him. All that Tommy hears from her is a yelp that nobody else catches.

+

When he picks her up, she sucks in a harsh, surprised breath, but she can hardly resist him. She still tries though: her hands push at his shoulders with a barely-there pressure that is alarming. She tries to talk too (scream?), but he puts his hand over her mouth. He absorbs her shiver of fear, taking a small comfort in the promise he makes her: ‘ _I’m not gonna hurt you_.’ but that kind of denial is a thin blanket already. From the way Felicity is struggling, she doesn’t believe it either. Oliver doesn’t let it stop him though.

He’s never moved so fast, doesn’t even bother to be silent. It a strange mixture of absolute focus and threadbare panic that he feels in his veins as he shoves her as carefully as possible in the front seat, buckling her in before sliding as swiftly as possible into his and flooring it.

Felicity tries to struggle with her seat-belt.

“Oh god…”

“Miss Smoak, listen to me: I mean it, I’m _not_ going to hurt you. This is not a kidnapping.” And it’s the first time he hates that voice modulator. It doesn’t make him sound reassuring at all – as if to prove that she flinches even further away from him, almost flat against the door.

“It sure as hell… _looks_ like one.” she hisses, breathing shallow and fast. “Ugh, I feel strange… Did you _roofie_ me? Oh god… Oh, I’m in trouble…”

Oliver clenches his jaw shut and swerves between traffic, blocking out the fear that makes her voice shake. He is going so fast that she doesn’t even try to open it, though her hands are still trying to undo the seatbelt (he doesn’t miss how she fumbles with it and the thought that she is already experiencing the first stages of muscle failure makes his heart thud against his breastbone so hard that he thinks it might just crack a few ribs.

“Why… what…”

But precisely in that moment Oliver takes a brusque turn and she is jolted back into the seat with a whimper.

“The sniper that shot up the auction tonight laces his bullets with poison. You’re experiencing the first symptoms.” Oliver keeps his voice even and as calm as he can make it. It’s not as difficult as he might have thought, being detatched from this moment: he needs about 84% of his concentration to race through the glades without crashing them.

“Is that a synthetic voice modulator? I bet it is.” She murmurs. “You sound… really creepy, by the way. Unless it’s your real voice, cause in that case… in that case… _Ow_ , that hurts.”

He can’t afford to take his eyes off the road but he can tell she is moments away from going under completely: her words are starting to slur, like she is drunk. Her chin is already falling on her chest.

“We’re almost there.” He grunts between tightly clenched teeth, more for his own benefit than hers.

He isn’t sure how many traffic laws he breaks to get to the foundry – probably all of them. When he skids the car to a stop, Felicity has already lost consciousness. Once he sets her on the table, her pulse is barely there under his (shaking) fingers and he has to take his glove off to find it. (That one moment when he thinks he can’t and she’d just died in his arms, his _everything_ screeches to a halt and Oliver feels all his energy, all his strength abandon him. Fear he knows intimately, but this… _this_ is different). But her hearts is still beating, she is still _alive_ and Oliver doesn’t have time for the upheaval inside him; he can’t stop to _feel_ any of this. Instead, he gently lifts her arm and pierces the blue vein on the inside of her elbow, injecting the antidote straight to her bloodstream and hooks her up to an IV to keep her hydrated. He moves with deliberation; only action, no thought, focusing his every sense inwards - slowing his pulse, controlling his breathing, blocking out distractions. Only her pulse under his fingers matters and he narrows his world down to that, to her steady breaths and nothing else. Detachment is a dangerous talent to cultivate so meticulously, but it is also one that Oliver has developed when he realised he had to survive by sitting himself at the same table with the worst of humanity. It was either that, or go mad, so he found himself fostering and honing disconnection as if it was another of his senses.

But after a while Felicity’s heartbeat picks up, her breathing evens out and her skin doesn’t feel so clammy, so Oliver doesn’t have an objective or crisis to deal with anymore.

All he has is Felicity Smoak in a flame-red dress, laying on the cold, metal table of the foundry, surrounded by his gear and his arrows and a general feeling of surreality stirring in his gut. Life doesn’t make any fucking sense anymore, because if there was one place she was never, _ever_ supposed to set foot in, was _this_.

Yet there she is, as real as his hand around the back of her head, holding it up so the small gulps of tea he pours between her lips can go down her throat more easily. And there he is, trying to keep distance, to ignore the closeness of her and what it means to him, trying only to focus on keeping up with the rhythm of her pulse. It gets harder to do so with each of her strengthening heartbeats, making the unavoidable reality of his situation come into sharp, inescapable focus: the crisis is over and now there is nothing to stop him from just… _being_ there, closer to Felicity than he’s been to her in _five years!_

And _god_ … he has no idea what he’s feeling anymore! Cat read the emotions coursing through him, its as if they’re written in a different language.

Being close to her used to fill him up with warmth; it used to tether him back to things he knew in a time when he had felt completely removed from his life. Now though… now the nearness of her lands heavily in him, like a black stone falling, and Oliver is completely unprepared for it.

It’s nothing like he thought it would be. His heart thuds its way out of his forced composure and there’s nothing Oliver can even begin to do about it. He looks at her, _seeing_ her for the first time ( _her_ , not the paleness of her skin, the tiny glass-made cuts all over her, or the bruises); he looks at _her_ and sees her teasing smile, even though her mouth is unmoving, her deep-red lipstick smudged. He sees her smooth face, the long lashes… and remembers how they used to flutter closed every time he would lean in to kiss her. Sees her right hand and her wrist wrapped in bandages, the quick work of the paramedics, and remembers the way she used to touch him (tentative at first, then _all over,_ with not even a memory of hesitation left). He looks at her and whatever remnant of feeling he has left, all those pebbles of emotions he's been hiding from, they _overpower_ him, cracking through his bones and veins like thunder, breaking goosebumps over his skin. The feeling shudders up his spine, settling beneath his breastbone and the weight of it curves Oliver over her without him even being aware he’s moving. And from that deep please inside him, his emotions echo and shiver through him with every heartbeat, like ripples over water: starting small and getting wider, upsetting the whole surface.

His fingers shake with the very tips of them skim the skin of her shoulder, the warmth of her hitting him with the strength of an electric current. He takes in huge gulps of ai, but the oxygen seems to have left the room completely. He touches his forehead to hers lightly, and his chest opens up, leaves his gasping. He doesn’t even realise the reason behind his blurry sight until he closes his eyes and one teardrop makes it down his nose and falls on her cheekbone, trailing down.

He can practically taste her scent from this close, the warm and lingering sweetness of her… and the coppery tang of blood, too. And once that registers, it freezes him, crashing him back into himself, into that moment…

Because the problem with making apathy your main way of coping with reality, is that the moment you let yourself feel something, you feel _everything_ \- and it doesn’t stop. And to Oliver, that feels like going under a wave of broken glass: there is no way for him to resurface from that, other than in shreds.

So he straightens ( _even though his insides are screaming to touch her, to gather her into his arms and fall right into her; a need so acute it slices through him harder with every inch of distance he puts between them_ ); makes himself take his hands off her ( _gently, pulling her hair from beneath her shoulders and draping it to her side_ ). He turns her back to the gurney completely, takes a deep breath, then two, planting his hands on the cool metal of the table and hunching his shoulders, trying to roll back into himself. Striving to contain this… whatever he is feeling. It’s perverse how he feels like he’s having a panic attack, when this is what he’s wanted, what he’s literally _dreamed_ about, for years. Except in his fantasies she had not been bleeding on his table, right in the heart of his secret. Oliver knows that’s only a part of what’s unhinging him at the seams. The real reason is _her_ ; it's _them_. It’s finally being so close and finding that his hands shake if he so much as reaches to skim his fingertips across her face; it’s a want that rattles all the way to his bones in a way he didn’t even think was possible anymore, and yet he can’t even remember why: _why_ he wants to touch her in the first place, why he’s breathing so hard, why his palms sweating and the air in the room is not enough to fill his lungs.

Felicity was shot, poisoned and she is in the foundry, unconscious. Oliver repeats that reality to himself, consciously trying to slow down, find a point to this situation where he can tether himself to in _any_ kind of _rational_ way. In the end he can’t find one, not really, so he surrenders for tending to her the only way he knows how without the risk of losing the small measure of sanity he has left. He grabs his grey blanket ( _too rough and scratchy for her, but then again he’d never imagined Felicity would be the one he would wrap it around_ ) and gently wraps it around her. He unwraps the hasty dressing on her hand, exposing the deep cut that has sliced her palm open ( _it will be a couple of weeks before she can type without wincing, and the thought makes a wave of hot anger lap at his ankles, but he pushes it away_ ). He cleans it carefully, puts butterfly stitches on it before bandaging it again, acutely aware of the smallness of her hand in his ( _no longer a memory, now. She had always been real to him though, even when she was only in his head. Sometimes, she had been the realest thing he experienced. His only tether to sanity, to the memory of a feeling he had given up on_.)

That’s how Tommy finds him thirty minutes later: hunched over Felicity’s unmoving form, putting a wide green leaf over the wound on her upper arm that would help her heal and carefully wrapping clean bandage over it.

“She’s fine” Oliver says as he straightens. He doesn't even notice how his hand smoothed back her hair from her forehead, touch lingering.

Tommy does though. Oliver’s words fill his with relief and he finally is able to take a deep breath as he lets himself fall on the closest stool. Oliver wishes he could do the same, but he can't. He is stuck by her side, unable to move closer, unwilling to move away.

“That’s good to know.” Tommy says around a sigh. “But we have another problem.”

Oliver doesn’t look away from Felicity’s face, but nods anyway, encouraging Tommy to go on, even though he looks supremely unconcerned. ( _Tommy pretends not to notice how Oliver’s fingertips catch a straying lock of Felicity’s hair, winding the pale strand around a finger and then letting go. It’s an deliberate gesture, the enactment of an old, almost-forgotten habit_.)

“John Diggle.” Tommy says and its all that needs to be said, but it gets worse than that. “I think he has a trace on her or something cause last i saw him, he was heading for the Glades like he knew exactly where to look. Does Felicity have her phone with her? He could have tracked its signal to here.”

There is a certain calm to Oliver’s motions, to his face that is really starting to freak Tommy out. And yeah, Tommy gets that having Felicity there with him is a big deal, but you’d think that risking almost certain exposure would make a bigger damage Oliver’s calm a bit more, considering the length he has gone to keep his recent ‘updated-to-alive’ status hidden.

As it is, Oliver just shakes his head. His fingers skim the shell of Felicity’s ear, tracing the industrial piercing on it - making Tommy feel the need to look away, because that look on Oliver’s face, he deserved to have privacy for that, if nothing else.

“It’s not her phone.” He hears Oliver say in a tone that Tommy has never heard before (doesn’t take a genius to know why). “It’s probably her earring. Could be anything really. She used to talk about nanotechnology all the time.”

It makes Tommy feel like the most worthless piece of shit on the planet, it really does, especially since the weight of the sadness in Oliver’s voice, that softness that practically _thrums_ with longing - Tommy knows all that well enough to recognize it and respect it, and want to get the hell out of its hearing distance so that Oliver can have at least this moment to himself - but they _don’t have time for this!_ Because in about another five minutes, two hundred pounds of muscle strapped on the six-point-three frame of one very protective and _mighty_ pissed off Special Forces Commander would bust through their doors like a hurricane ( _with possibly half the SCPD force in tow, for all they knew_ ) and they had to _do_ something about that. Because though the truth was that Oliver and Tommy could handle Digg - hell, Oliver could handle him on his own - that was very much not the point. Digg was Felicity’s friend and he had been on good( _ish_ ) terms with Oliver too, as far as Tommy knew, before the whole Gambit thing.

So hence, their problematic situation.

Yet, Oliver seemed fresh out of fucks to give, and it was starting to get Tommy antsy because godammit, he didn’t sign on for this shit!

“ _Oliver_!”

“I heard you Tommy.” comes the supremely serene response. It makes Tommy frown because this kind of carelessness, its totally out of character for Oliver these days… which means its probably not carelessness at all. And it brings Tommy back to his suspicions that Oliver had been planning something for a while.

“Oliver… what are you doing?”

Oliver doesn’t respond. He doesn’t pick up his bow to face off with John Diggle, doesn’t do anything.

“Did you... did you contact him? Tell him you have Felicity and that she's safe?”

Meaning, is he gonna storm this place with Lance and the rest of SCPD or not?

“In a manner of speaking, yeah.”

“What makes you think he's not talking to Lance right now!”

But Oliver just shakes his head. “He won't.”

And then it dawns on Tommy - and he feels stupid for not seeing it sooner.

“Oh.” because that’s about the only word he is capable of, once he realizes the fullness of the situation. and then, once he has a moment to think about it, he gets angry. “You _idiot_! Have you lost your mind?”

It makes Oliver huff, which is what passes for a laugh these days with him.

“Jury’s still out on that.” he says calmly, and Tommy can’t believe the man’s nerve! ( _he totally can though, cause_ this _, this is pure Ollie shamelessness_ )

“Look, Oliver, I am the first person to tell you that you can't do this alone, but John Diggle is the last man in the world to ask into this! He will out you in a heartbeat, Ollie.”

That catches Oliver’s attention, finally making him look away from the blonde laying still and pale on that sorry slab of a medical table.

“He won’t.” Oliver says firmly, and he believes it too. “Jon’s a soldier. He understands war; he is loves this city and is more loyal to it than anyone I’ve ever met. He _will_ do what’s necessary to save it.”

Tommy bites back a curse, lips thinning in anger. “Forget the city for a second. I’m not talking about him outing you to the police.”

“What?”

Ah there it is, the all-encompassing frown of doom. Finally something familiar ( _and yeah, Tommy was well aware he was starting to contradict himself, but fuck it_.)

“ _Felicity_ , Ollie. He will tell _Felicity_. There is no way _in hell_ he won’t.”

And the frown gets deeper, Oliver’s eyes get darker. “What do you mean?”

Tommy shakes his head. For all the tabs that Oliver keeps on the people closest to him, sometimes he misses the simplest things.

“John Diggle is one of Felicity’s best friends, Oliver. And he knows exactly what she went through when you were lost at sea, because he was there with her the whole way. If you think for a moment he won’t tell her you’re alive, you’re seriously deluding yourself.”

That is the first time that he sees a serious pause come over Oliver’s features, but the next moment the hesitation is gone.

“He won’t though. Because he cares about her and he wants her safe. And there is no safety in knowing about… about all this – as we both well know.” Oliver pins Tommy with a hard look, meant to remind him of the Triad mess and the fact that they both lost two very important people that night, because of something Oliver called 'carelessness', but all Tommy wants to do is scoff in his face. Yeah, Oliver thinks that, but that’s because he assumes that everyone loves the way he does.

Personally, Tommy can live with the consequences of however this gamble turns out. If this is a chance Oliver is willing to take, so be it. All the better for it really. _Why are you arguing against this so hard?_ Tommy asks himself. _Oh right._ Because one never knew with Oliver’s moods these days and that meant that an arrow through John’s throat was probably just as possible as an alliance, if the whole thing went sideways. ( _Lies, really. Because they no matter what Oliver’s homicidal tendencies as of late, he would never kill someone like John Diggle just out of convenience_.)

“Fine. But…”

Neither of them gets to hear what Tommy would add to that though, because a small groan echoes between them, and both their eyes snap on Felicity, who is apparently not as unconscious as they had thought she was. Tommy sees the way Oliver goes utterly still, the tension returning to make the line of his shoulders even more pronounced. One of his hands hoovers over her, as if to touch her, but then he makes a fist of it and slowly, it falls back to his side… and Tommy feels is a pang of deep sympathy for his friend, who is so fucked up in the head he is afraid to touch the woman he loves.

A small whimper of discomfort makes it past Felicity's lips and and it makes Oliver flinch. He moves quickly, the needle in his hand before Tommy can see what it is he filled her with ( _though he dearly hopes its not morphine cause that one makes Felicity wonky as hell_ ). After a few moments, Felicity quietens, her face smooth again from any remains of pain, though she keeps moving restlessly.

“What’s the matter?” Tommy asks once he is close enough to put a hand on her forehead, feeling for a fever.

“The psilocybin in the curare is starting to take effect.” Oliver says and this time, the calm in his voice is forced.

Tommy’s eyes snap on Oliver’s face.

“What, she'll hallucinate?”

Oliver isn’t looking at him as he shakes his head, his lips pursed almost in anger. “More like really vivid dreaming. Not the good kind, usually. Most people talk about nightmares.”

A soft beep off Oliver’s computers alerts them to a presence in the foundry and they exchange a look. Tommy rolls his eyes.

“You owe me big, Queen.” he says with a firm finger in front of Oliver’s face, to drive his point home. Because facing a pissed off John Diggle right about now was not Tommy’s idea of fun. But Oliver just nods, solemn as ever, and Tommy waves him away as he pulls on his black jacket, pulling the dark sash over his mouth and nose to protect his identity.

It takes longer than Tommy had initially thought to take John Diggle down without damaging the man too much ( _that soldier fight hard… and boy is he_ pissed _\- the hits he does manage to land make Tommy feel like he’s being beaten with a block of solid marble!_ ). To add to the fun of it all, Tommy also has the pleasure of dodging a couple of bullets before the gun is knocked out of the ex-military man’s hands. Once the giant has been subdued, there comes the hard part though - the part Tommy and not been looking forward to; namely dragging the huge fucker down into Oliver’s foxhole. Yeah, good times.

_The things I’ll do for love_ , Tommy things ruefully as he lays Diggle on a less grimy part of the foundry’s floor. What what he sees when he walks into the small medical area where he left Oliver in, _that_ is what stops Tommy cold (… _because how else was one supposed to react to seeing Oliver Queen, one time best friend and current Starling vigilante, wrapped around Felicity Smoak like a barnacle, her head on his shoulder and his buried in the slope of her neck, her whole body curved around his torso like she was trying to wrap herself around him, even half-delusional and sedated out of her mind…_ ) But then again, Tommy should have expected this kind of fuckup, because honestly, when have Oliver’s plans ever gone as he meant them to? Before the Gambit, or after, that was probably one of the few things that would never change.

And maybe Tommy was an optimist by nature, but there was a small kind of comfort in that.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for changing that last part - about Felicity beign shot instead of Diggle I mean, but I promise that it's for plot reasons. I needed it to be Felicity because something happens later that is gonna tie into this... and because i needed Oliver to hold her at least once before she finds him out. That was also important... for reasons...  
> But if I can figure out how to make that happen without changing the canon part of 'Lone Gunmen' then I'll probably change this chapter, because I have always thought that while Digg's involvement had been planned by Oliver in advance, and didnt just happen because he was shot, the fact that Oliver also saved his life was important to their relationship, the dynamic they had.   
> anyway, enough of that.   
> i hope you liked. thank you, as always, for reading.


	9. Four… and an inch

 

**Four… and an inch**

“ _Yet each man kills the thing he loves_  
_By each let this be heard_  
 _Some do it with a bitter look_  
 _Some with a flattering word_  
 _The coward does it with a kiss_  
 _The brave man with a sword_ ”

_Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol_

 

The sensation of her head floating away from her body, that unpleasant unsteadiness of her insides, the cotton mouth and the whole weightless feeling… they were all reasons why Felicity actively avoided getting seriously drunk. But the more she tried to wake herself out of this stupor that seemed to dance along the edges of unconsciousness, then deeper she found herself falling into it. She does not feel drunk, not really… she feels like she had been beaten with something hard, and she was bruised and aching all over but there were spots that burned and her insides feel like they had liquified and her brain hasn’t made up its mind yet if he waited them in or out…

She tries to open her eyes, but she can’t even _find_ her eyes. all she knows is darkness and cold and aching in all the wrong ways. her breath comes heavy, her head is pounding like freaking Thor is having a party in there and its not fair…

a groan or something like it makes its way past her lips, or maybe it just resonates in her head. at this point she can’t be sure.

but then a prickle that stings like a bee comes, and after that, the pain fades away a bit, like someone toned it down and Felicity finds that the cotton slowing her brain is a bit less-there now and can actually think. she can breathe and taste the mustiness of the stale air, she can feel her own extremities and open her eyes… maybe. she feels like floating and its not entirely unpleasant, but it does make her queasy.

Its like swaying forever in that part of sleep when you're not really alseep, and where dreams are the closest to reality, and every noise feels way too loud, and sometimes you wake with a start, tinking you're falling...

except there’s no waking in sight and Felicity feels like she is stuck the the Ferris wheel of nightmares. And she never liked Ferris wheels in the first place!

she dreams about him again. of course she does. he’s been in and out of her dreams these few weeks, always hoovering at the edges of her consciousness. But this time it’s nightmares of storms and darkness and a sea in upheaval, swallowing him whole and Felicity can’t do anything about it. it usual, really. not the first time she has had this kind of nightmare. eventually all her nightmares learned his name. everyone she loved had died by drowning in her dreams at least once.

but it had never felt like this. never had it been so real. so frightening. usually in dreams when you start crying you don’t feel the tears, the sobs. you can catch your breath or if not you wake. but it wasn’t like that at all this time… her cries come easier, her tears feel wet on her face and she struggles harder.

It's not always so bad. she doesn’t always see him die. Sometimes she ses Sara's smiling face, hears the echo of her laugh. Sometimes Oliver stayed. sometimes he was with her, right there in her bed, or in his bed, and just looked at her. she fears these dreams more, fears their lack of detail, their painfully unsatisfying nature. she could not imagine him back to life, not really. but other times… oh, other times it was perfect.

Usually, once she had a nightmare she'd wake and there would be no more sleeping. It the horrors rarely sifted to anything better. But this time they do. And though Felicity can't feel much of anything, and everything she is foggy and blurry, there is warmth too. The kind of warmth she hasn’t felt in _so long.._. Maybe despite everything, today would be a good day after all, because she feels it now, more real and present than she had ever felt him before, ever: his arm under her head, pulling her close, and the other wrapping around her waist. her hipbone ached, the bed is made of stone or something similar and her toes are so, so cold, but oh… oh, it all feels so real. his lips at the base of her throat feel real. soft and warm and… scratchy? _what…_

_A beard?_ Did she dream about him with a beard now? that was new.

she wanted to reach out, touch him, but her arms feel like they were made of lead. everything is so slow and useless in dreams. only fear moves fast there. you don’t. you stay in place an the landscape moves around you. but she must be really really sick, or really high on something good, because she does move, and she does touch him, and the heat of a real body beneath her fingers seeps through her and it makes her want to cry. Felicity feels his hand wrap around hers, a firm, deliberate kiss falls on the center of her palm, trails of them follow all the way to her wrist... slow, long... and moments seep into each other, nothing matters anymore...

Except there is pain too, to this sweetness. To this fantasy.

this hurts. it does. she can feel the tug of it in her chest, like she is scrapping at an old wound that has never quite healed, but only been forgotten. her pain tolerance is high now, but this feeling wrecks through it as if her walls her paper. his palm on her cheek hurts too… in the best way, but it still makes her sob. His breath fans her lips, his kisses raining on her face, and all Felicity can feel is guilt, and shame and a longing so strong that she thinks she will never be rid of it, ever. It hurts too much to fade.

_I’m so sorry…_

she wishes (how many times has she wished this? too many.) that she could tel him. how sorry she is. all the diffent shades of it. but its too late now. all she has is nightmares and excruciating dreams where even his hands feel wrong.

she still turns her face into his palm though pressing it closer with her hand, pressing a kiss into his palm the way he did, rubbing her cheek into it like a cat.

_your hands feel different…_

maybe she just doesn’t remember him. the thought makes her want to cling to him as tight as she can, it makes her want this dream not to end even though she feels like she is melting on a hot pan, and not in the fun way. but she doesn’t let him go, and his name turns into a litany in her head, as if that of all things will make him stay. it never has before. it won’t now either, even though she feels herself curve around him, feels his hand grasping her cold toes, head seeping into them. she used to love that spot on his shoulder where she could just turn her head and she’d be able to press a kiss at the base of his throat. it's where she rests her head now, and sloppily tries to kiss him the way she used to, but all Felicity manages is a moan. she feels herself being held, and its so beautiful she knows it’s going to feel horrible when she wakes up without it.

a part of her - the tiny part that is buried inside her deep and still hurts every time anyone leaves her - that part, it wishes to stop this. It wishes she would never dream of him again. It wishes she could just forghet him and this could stop, because pain like this could not be survived for long. She should know. She had shed her own skin to leave his ghost behind.

_I havent dreamed about you in so long. Just leave me...just let me go, please...please... i cant do this anymore..._

But she could though. She was the one that held on to him. Despite herself, there were things of him she wasnt willing to let go. Its exausting though, allowing herself to feel this way.

_I’m so tired… so tired…_

and that’s when she feels herself being rocked ever so gently, and its nice even though she feels queasy. its the thought that counts, right. and the hold he has on her is so tight it almost feels real, even thought she is floating, even though she can hardly feel her fingers and her head feels like its detaching. she feels the wet splashes of his tears on her collarbone, those she recognises clearly, because they had landed there before. and just like before she can’t help but wanting to comfort him.

_dreams should be so sad_ , she thinks. _you should be happy in my dreams._

But he’d never been particularly happy, had he? he’d been bored and impatient and directionless and restless...

_you were so lonely, werent you?_

he doesn’t say anything and Felicity wants to soff. he’s more talkative in her dreams usually. but this obviously isn’t her day, because she has conjured him different; with a beard and rough hands and apparently she has a thing for stuffy men now, though its no surprise that its still as Oliver that her fantasies takes shape as. he's never cried in her arms before though.

_dont cry… dont…_

her breath feels heavy, her lungs are too small for this. but she nuzzles his jaw in that way - the way he away knew meant she wants him to turn, she wants him to kiss. she misses his kisses _so_ much…

_i've spent years remembering what its like to kiss you lips..._

to be kissed the way he used to. she has looked for it in other men and never found it. but then he turns and in dreams… oh, inn dreams it perfect.

she wants to touch him again. her hands moves, but it barely manages to skim his cheek. lead, lead is what she’s made of, and the darkness makes him slip away. or mabe she’s the one that falls into it. this time, maybe she is the one drowning.

this too, is a nightmare she has had before.

 


	10. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have used multiple quotes from various sources in this chapter, so anything you regognise doesnt beling to me. I'll get around to editing the notes in, but for now i was just too impatient to wait posting this because this chapter is one of the first things I wrote about this story, so im really exited to have finally fleshed it out.  
> Let me know what you think.

 

_“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”_

_Jane Austen_ _,_ _Pride and Prejudice_

Felicity hasn’t been carried that often in her life, but one doesn’t need to be an expert to recognize the feeling, even though dimply. She feels a sensation that could be a kiss on her forehead ( _the familiarity of it making her jerk a bit more into wakefulness, if only to hold on, to be there_ ), before she is set down somewhere soft. There are voices around her, distant and strange, but she doesn’t really register them.

Her hands try to hold on but her fingers slide off something cool and supple, maybe leather. A brief flash of the vigilante hauling her off to god knows where startles her into jerking but not though to overpower the terrible exhaustion pulling her down.

In the end, Felicity doesn’t even remember when exactly she lost consciousness for good, only that she woke up at the hustle bustle of the Hospital. Her mother’s is the first face she sees, and then Lance and Laurel at the foot of her bed, smiling at her.

“Hey, baby. You scared us for a moment there.” Donna says softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on Felicity’s cheek. Felicity though can only stare blankly, trying to blink herself awake. Her face is numb, she can’t feel her fingers and her toes and there seems to be sandpaper behind her lids.

“What… What happened?” she croaks, and her throat is so dry it actually hurts to talk.

Thankfully she doesn’t have to do a whole lot of talking from then on. She just has to listen. And what she hears startles Felicity into wakefulness like nothing else before. Words like kidnapped, and vigilante and poison all swirl through her brain without making any kind of sense. She doesn’t remember any of it. The only thing she remembers is behind shoved into a car, the mechanical creepy voice telling her ‘ _I’m not gonna hurt you_ ’ over and over. Then she remembers the dreams, fragments of nightmares, and being cold, so cold… and then not.

She tells all this to the detective that comes in half an hour later to take her statement. It’s almost funny how Quentin hovers and glares at the man every time he prods too forcefully or talking makes Felicity cough.

“And you did not see him?”

Felicity sighs. “I barely even looked at him. I lost consciousness in the car. I think I must have woken later, but…”

She stops, trying hard to remember.

“But what?” The detective asks. Even lance is frowning and laurel is keeping a hard eye on both of them – not hesitating to tell them to shove right out if she detects any kid of distress on Felicity’s face.

“I don’t know. I can’t be sure of anything really, I think I started having hallucinations at some point.” Felicity says tiredly.

“How can you be sure? Maybe you saw him and…”

Felicity turns a frizzled glare to this annoyingly enthusiastic man. “I’m pretty sure seeing dead people counts as hallucination, detective.” She snaps, just as Laurel warns the man not to harass her client or he will be escorted out without preamble.

Felicity sighed. “I’m sorry for snapping detective. I’m just tired. All I want is to get out of this paper dress and go home. You know where I live; I’ll be available anytime for you ok.”

The middle aged man looked at her carefully but then gave a stiff nod. “Very well, Miss Smoak. This is it for tonight. Now, I need to ask one last thing from you.”

And the he goes on explaining how he needed his CSI team to collect samples from her skin, because they might find a fingerprint on her if the vigilante touched her – something they are pretty confident about ( _Of course they are. After all, hadn’t she been just told that her every wound had already been cleaned and bandaged properly before she came to the hospital? Of course he’d touched her_ ). A shiver races up Felicity’s spine and she feels like bugs are crawling up her skin, because god, thinking about him touching her when she was passed out and completely at his mercy made Felicity want to scream. It made her want to hunt his ass down and _bury_ him and no matter what the circumstance this is a visceral reaction that Felicity can’t control. But a part of her, a small part that still remembers the circumstances she came to be there, in that hospital room, reminds her that she doesn’t know if the vigilante had had gloves on or not when he touched her. It reminds her that they might very well find a print and the man that man, whoever he was, might go to jail because he took a chance and saved her life.

_He’d saved her life…_

Out of 7 people who had been shot, two had died, three others were in critical condition and she was the only one that was doing well enough to be discharged tomorrow. Because the Hood had chosen her , out of all the others.

_Oh my god… oh…_

“Felicity, are you ok baby?” Donna asks softly. Felicity looks up and finds that only Laurel and her mother are in the room with her.

“Where are…”

“They gave us a moment.” Donna says, taking her hand. “Felicity honey… did anything… did…”

Felicity sighs, closes her eyes. “Mom, I’m fine. I am.”

“It’s ok if you don’t want to go through with this. If…”

But Felicity interrupts Laurel before she can finish that. The last thing she needs is rumors starting about things that most definitely didn’t happen.

“It fine. Send them in.” and then, after a deep breath and trying to sound as calm as she possibly can (puppy eyes help too) “Please tell me that you got some real clothes and my tablet.”

That’s when two women come in, with a kit in hand for evidence gathering.

“Am I awesome, or am I awesome?” Laurel asks wiggling her eyebrows, as she pulls out that same table from her bag. Felicity almost sags with relief.

“You’re awesome.” She says with a genuine smile as she reaches for her baby with both hands – forgetting that her arms was hurt only hours prior. When it pulls, she hisses, immediately sobering the faces around her.

“I’m ok, really.” Felicity insists. “Barely hurts.”

She lets the CSI work in silence, and once they’re gone she feels sticky but doesn’t mind much. Trying to seem as natural as possible, she reclines back on the bed in her plush pajamas, and sends out messages and emails to everybody she knows, telling them she is ok and getting out of the hospital tomorrow morning. Nobody but the police and her family know that the vigilante had anything to do with her and she has been advised to keep it that way. And as Laurel fills her in about what happened, Felicity busies herself with hacking ( _as discretely as possible_ ) into the SCPD mainframe, the CSI Labs servers and every other facility connected to the case that had a digital banking system. The second she gets a hit on the fingerprint, if they are even able to find one, she will know.

It doesn’t even occur to her until hours later, that this is the first time she has done any substantial hacking in years. Guilt settles heavily in her gut. Four years ago Felicity had promised herself, vowed really, that she would never hack into anything ever again. She betrayed that promise. But on the other hand she would have betrayed herself if she became the reason why the Hood went to jail, or got killed. He was a killer, yes. But she owed him her life all the same.

That forgiving mood was whipped clean out though, exactly the next day, when her tablet pinged as she entered her apartment. Despite her soreness and overall dizziness, felicity was quick to snatch her table out of her bag and substitute the results with the false profile she had prepped beforehand – one that would lead the police to a dead end.

It wasn’t until she saw the actual results, more out of curiosity that anything else, that her world cracked, just a little bit.

+

Oliver is still a bit shaken from the talk he had with Digg the other night, and again today, in a lost corner of the Glades.

Oliver is pretty familiar with murder. It’s not something that he really thinks about anymore. The part of him that used to flinch at it was buried long ago. He had had to stop a lot of things throughout the years: he had to stop trusting, stop believing, hoping. He had to stop caring. Eventually he’d stopped feeling like a person, just as he stopped seeing other people as people. For the longest time that had been the only way to survive. What made him human had been just another thing that could kill him, so he’d stopped - and survived anyway. He’d become this… entity he was now. The kind of man who could stand having an old friend call him a criminal and a murderer to his face, without giving up. The kind of man had looked into John’s eyes and dispassionately told him about how his father had killed a man and then shot himself in the head to ensure his son’s survival.

Oliver had known going in, that he would have to be upfront with Digg if he wanted to have a chance at convincing him. Comparing his own dethatched retelling of one of the most horrible thing to have happened to him, and Digg’s emotional response to that same event puts in contrast the differences between the two of them and Oliver is not unaware of that. There had been measured weariness on Diggle’s face as Oliver explained him his reasons.

In the end, John had accepted his offer. It had been a relief, a tiny victory, but Digg’s words kept ringing in Oliver’s ears.

_…with me, there’ll be fewer casualties._

What Oliver had told Jon was true: he wasn’t looking for salvation. He didn’t really think there was a chance for him to obtain it, much less a possibility of him deserving it. But if he could do this one thing right, maybe all the ugliness and the horror he had been through could mean something. All that sacrifice could come to some conclusion, some purpose, instead of being just senseless pain.

 _You are fighting a war Queen, except you have no idea what war does to you. How it scraps off little pieces of your soul. And you need someone to remind you who you are, not this thing you’ve become_.

But what John didn’t seem to understand was that Oliver already had that person. His mother, his sister – they were a thought he tucked at the back of his head, needing them to remind him that not all the things in this word were broken… but it had been with Felicity that he had shared everything with. She was not a conscious thought, not really. But when he had been the only living person in that life-raft, she’d been with him. And later on the island, she’d been with him. Even now as he sat sharpening one of his arrows, she was with him, tucked at the corner of his vision, looking at him with that head tilt of hers, curious and knowing at the same time.

He hadn’t see in her five days, ever since he dropped her at the hospital…

“Oliver!”

He looks up, surprised at the edge in Tommy’s voice. When he sees what Tommy is seeing on his computer screen his heart almost stops beating.

“What…” his breathing shortens, his heard hammers in his chest, blood suddenly a rush in his veins. “What is she doing here?”

“How the hell should _I_ know?!”

“We have to leave.” And Oliver is already picking up one of his hoodies and a baseball cap.

“And leave her to snoop around here alone? Are you insane?”

“Then distract her! Get her out of here!” Oliver hisses, and Tommy knows that he’d rather roar, but doesn’t want to be heard.

“Distract Felicity? Are we still talking about the same person?”

“ _Tommy_!”

“Look, she is not here by coincidence, because where Felicity is concerned, they don’t exist.” Tommy insists and he can practically hear Oliver growling ( _but he is not fooled – he knows what panic looks like in his friend’s eyes_.) “Look just let me handle it.”

Tommy gets out from the back door, just as Oliver melts in the shadows, a tiny voice in his head accusing him that this was all his fault, because he has thinking about her and dreaming about her and if someone told him right now that he had made this happen through the sheer force wishing her with him, Oliver would have believed it… for two full seconds, at least.

+

She is dressed in a pair of rarely-worn black jeans, old dusty boots that Tommy recalls were her style years ago, a black hoodie and a faded grey leather jacket that looks like has seen much better says. She is dressed, Tommy realizes, to fade in the background of the Glades, and it kinda makes him smile because of course Felicity would think better of standing out too much in a place like this. ( _she still does though, with her golden hair and her bright pink mouth. Someone should tell her that camouflage is more than the clothes on your back… or maybe not. It’s not in her nature to fade in the background anyway._ )

Its really not that encouraging that she can calculate those kind of details. It shows she put some serious thought into this, which will make derailing her about as likely as derailing a train.

Less likely, really. A train he could handle. Felicity Smoak – less so.

“H-hey Felicity. Whatsup?” he tries to keep his tone light, natural. As if him hanging out in an old factory in the Glades is a pure coincidence and there’s nothing amiss. Her eyes widen when she sees him, her mouth falling open, but then her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Tommy Merlyn.” She says his name as if its brand new. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You could yeah.” She says and then turns back to her tablet, walking by him as if he’s not there at all. Tommy follows her immediately.

“What are you doing?” But one look at her table tells him exactly what she’s doing. She’s tracing a signal – a signal that happens to come from straight beneath them. Tommy grits his teeth against the curses that come up.

“ _Felicity_!”

“Stop it, Tommy.” She snaps, turning to him with anger in her eyes. “Stop pretending and stop trying to distract me. I may be blonde Merlyn, but I’m the farthest thing from stupid you will ever meet in your life, so _don’t. even_.”

“What are you talking about?” he tries again, but its useless because she is already plugging her tablet into the electronic lock that will lead her straight into the basement and into Oliver’s little hideout.

She cracks the security in less than 20 seconds and Tommy swears. She gives him a single raise brow as she opens the door and walks in. Tommy stops her by catching her elbow before she has taken another step.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Let go of me.” She hisses at him and Tommy feel like shaking some sense into her.

“Do you have any idea…”

“I know exactly what I’m doing Merlyn. And you need to get your hands off me please.”

“What you’re doing is trying to go into the hideout of a known killer.”

Felicity raises her chin at him, shaking his hand loose.

“Yeah, I am. A killer who saved my life.” But instead of walking in, she steps right into Tommy’s space. “You know, I thought I heard you that night. Later, I was convinced I must have been hallucinating, but now I find you here.” She scoffs. “I wasn’t hallucinating was I.”

She walks away, straight into the basement and this time, Tommy swears out loud, and followed right after her.

+

She walks slowly, taking everything in with sharp eyes that miss no details. Tommy wearily follows after her.

“Huh. This is underwhelming, but not unexpected.” She says as she stops in front of the computers, presses a couple of buttons, opening three windows at the same time. “For someone who has half of SCPD after him, the Hood’s network looks like it’s from the ’80; and not even the good part of the ’80. You should talk to him about that.” She leans in a bit, opens a few more windows and then rolls her eyes. “It was almost easy to find him; kinda made me wonder nobody else has.”

Tommy huffs.

“Nobody I know can do what you can with computers.”

Felicity just shrugs that off. “And I had access to police evidence. That hacking arrow was cute, but it wasn’t so hard to trace its originating signal to here.”

But her ramble doesn’t have its usual spark. She sounds something between utterly disinterested and gearing up for a Yellowstone-sized eruption.

“So… the idea that I might be the Hood didn’t even cross you mind? I gotta say, I feel insulted.” and he makes an effort to sound like a flake, the way he figures the old him would have, but Felicity’s unflinching look nips that one in the bud. She’s not buying his bullshit.

God, when has she ever.

“I know you’re not the vigilante, Tommy. And don’t even try play your way around this.”

Tommy winces, but keeps his mouth shut, because anything else would make this a lot harder than it needs to be. He watches her wearily as she moves around, eyeing the rows of arrows, the bow, the supplies. The mess…

Tommy’s breath catches when she picks up the bow like it’s a toy and tests its way in her hands, pulls back the string. He _itches_ to look back into the shadows – he would pay good money to see the look on Oliver’s face in that moment. But the shadows of the foundry don’t move. The silence is as deep as if they were alone.

“Not to be cute or anything… but why are you so convinced I’m not him?” Tommy asks, because he is honestly curious. Felicity pins him with an unyielding look.

“Timing.” She says, almost dismissively. “Temperament. Height, build, inclination, Laurel. Pick one.”

Tommy rolls her eyes at her. He doesn’t miss how she doesn’t say that he wouldn’t be physically capable of it though, which sets Tommy’s teeth on edge, as everything else about Felicity when she gets real observant.

“This bow has put arrows in quite a few people.” She says in a tone that is maybe absent minded, maybe flat. Tommy cant tell, he cant get a red on her this time.

“Bad people.”

She looks at him then, and Tommy ahs the urge to flinch away from her gaze, to close his eyes, something. He likes Felicity, she is one of the people he holds dearest, but he has rarely allowed himself to be truly open around her. He can’t: she notices things and there are things about himself Tommy doesn’t want noticed. But he’s both off guard and off kilter here and he hasn’t the first idea of how to gain back his footing without fucking everything up.

“That doesn’t bother you? Because I’ve always had this feeling you were the kind of guy it would bother.”

Tommy wishes he were better at reading her in that moment – not the generic body language, but the thoughts behind her words. He wishes she wouldn’t have steered the conversation in this particular direction, because if she rejects the Hood and Oliver hears it, Tommy doesn’t know what would happen after that.

Its too much responsibility for one person to carry, especially if they don’t know the power they hold in their hands. It’s cruel to allow it, but this whole mess is on Oliver’s hands for not coming clean to her before things got so fucked up. It’s as if the idiot loves to set himself up for disaster!

“I haven’t killed anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” Tommy says softly.

“But _he_ has.”

Tommy exhales a long breath.

“I really don’t know what you want me to say Felicity. I guess… if I had to see his way, to would say this whole thing is a war to him. And wars always have casualties.”

“Collateral damage you mean.” She specifies, eyes sharp and unyielding.

Tommy bites his lips, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You could call it that, I guess. Is this really what you’re here to talk about?”

Felicity puts the bow down, very carefully and turns to look at him in the face, her no-nonsense expression on. The one she wore whenever she was about to tear a new asshole to someone who had blocked the old one with their own head. And Tommy has sharp enough instincts to know that if he feels like he’s about to be hit with a ton of bricks, it’s probably because its true.

“No. I’m here because the Hood saved my life, and because I believe that despite his methods, he is trying to right some wrongs in this city - and I respect that. I came here, because I believe in second chances, and this was supposed to be me giving him one.” Felicity spoke calmly all the while even though she had not been looking him. But then she raised her eyes to his and they burned with anger.

She was anything but indifferent, no matter how even her voice sounded.

“But then I find _you_ here…” she says between gritted teeth and Tommy doesn’t understand why that particular part of this whole thing should make her so angry, but then Felicity goes on… and he gets it.

“The police had the Hood on camera when he dropped me off at the Glades Hospital – ATM from across the street. She took my clothes for processing and recovered a partial print off it. I hacked into the database and manipulated the results.”

She says it as if it’s nothing. As if it’s the weather. Tommy feels himself go pale at her words.

Because Oliver had a record, didn’t he. And that meant…

_Oh shit… Oooh shit!_

Her amusement as she watches realization sink into him is anything but funny. She looks bitter, and sad and _angry_ …

“So you knew then.” She nods, lips pursing in the way they always do when she is angry. The minute way she shakes her head speaks of disappointment though. “You know, if it had been just the Hood using a dead man’s fingerprints for convenience, or because he thought it was funny, I could have found it within me to let it go… after a while. But this isn’t some random person in leather and a stupid bow; this is _you,_ Tommy.” She inhales brokenly, and the anger falls away, leaving only heartbreak behind.

“Oliver’s fingerprints Tommy? Really?” She whispers, but she might as well have screamed. “How could you do it? How could you even _consider_ it?”

Tommy swallows heavily. So she hasn’t understood then. Of course she hadn’t: she thought Oliver was dead. He had been dead to her for years. It was a lot less painful to come to terms with that than to life with hope permanently lodged into your heart like a splinter.

He watches then, as the hurt fades, leaving its place to a steadily growing anger, and though it makes him decidedly a coward, Tommy prefers it, because honest to god, even though he had wanted Oliver to bring Felicity into this, not that Tommy faces firsthand the possibility of her heartbreak, he finds himself scared shitless. He has no idea how to deal with it and hell if that doesn’t make him empathize all of a sudden with Oliver’s certainty that she would never ever forgive either of them for this.

So yeah, her anger is easier to handle.

He opens his mouth, but she stops him with a raised hand, glaring at him something fierce.

“I don’t need you to answer that. I am past caring and frankly at this point it doesn’t even matter. Here’s what does: you and you new BFF in the leather tights are going to find someone else to be your cover. _Anyone_ else. God help me, I will reproduce a pair of fake fingerprints for him myself if I have to, but if I ever…” she clenches her jaw, nostrils flaring as she tries to calm down. When she speaks next she is not looking at Tommy anymore, but at the deep shadows and groves surrounding them, as if she knows Oliver is there, listening even though there is no way she could possibly.

“If I _ever_ get wind of you pining your murders on Oliver Queen’s memory again, I promise you I’m gonna devote my _considerable_ talents to burying you so far in the ground that the heat from the earth’s core with incinerate your sorry ass.”

“You think threatening a murderer is the way to go here, Felicity?” Tommy doesn’t know what makes him ask her that. The words are out of his mouth before he even is aware that he is speaking. But maybe its not her he is trying to rile up. Maybe it’s the idiot hiding in there from her.

When Felicity turns her narrowed eyes to him though, Tommy almost thinks better of it.

“I don’t care.” She hisses at him. “And don’t think for a moment you’re home free here Merlyn. Does Laurel know?”

Tommy freezes at the mention of laurel’s name.

“And don’t bother lying to me about it Tommy – you’re pathetically bad at it. You go stone cold when you try, and I can tell a mile away, so just be honest.”

Tommy winces at that and it costs him some effort to answer but he does.

“No. no she doesn’t.”

Her anger makes Felicity’s lips thinner. “That’s just great. Awesome. Lie to her some more, why don’t you.”

“Felicity…” and it’s a warning, but she is clearly past the point of caring.

“Don’t you ‘Felicity’ me when you’re the one in need of a reality check. So let me remind you, Merlyn, that your stupid neck is not entirely yours to risk anymore, because you seem to have forgotten that. Next time you make a stupid decision, take the time to look back to the wreck that will be _right_ behind you[1].”

Tommy is frankly surprised by how much her words sting. He has been trying to impress that same idea into Oliver for a while – that, though he hasn’t seen them in years, he still has people who love him and need him alive - and it hasn’t taken at all. Maybe later, he will be thankful that Felicity did say that, because maybe now that she’s said it, Oliver might actually listen. But in that moment, he is annoyed – because she is talking about something she has no idea about… and it’s still uncomfortably close to the truth.

It makes him snap back for exactly that reason.

“What is it that bothers you so much Felicity? That I was complicit to using my dead best friend’s fingerprints and that was disrespectful, or that people might add murder to the list of Oliver’s fuckups?”

He feels like shit the second the words are out of his mouth. He wants to reach in front of him, grab at them and pull them back in, because they were petty and mean and he didn’t mean them at all.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but the way he startles her into looking at him in the eye, her devastated reaction choking the apology before he can utter the words.

Because yes, it bothered her that the memory of a man so dear to her was being brought back _this_ way. It bothered her that, had the press gotten wind of it, the whole thing would have blown all over Thea’s face, and Moira’s, and that would have hurt them _in the soul_ (she knew it would because that’s the way it had hurt her). It bothered her that the flair of shock and hope she had felt had been instantaneous and it had almost cracked her open before she realized that it was impossible and dissolved into tears for the first time in years.

 _Yes,_ it bothered her! Everything about this bothered her, but the only reason Tommy Merlyn got was a slap to the face.

He didn’t even try to flinch away from it.

“I’m sorry.” She hears him say softly, as she rubs her stinging fingers together. “I didn’t meant that.”

Felicity feels her breath whoosh out of her, and just like that, her anger drains out too and all she has left is an unbelievable exhaustion that reaches all the way to her bones.

Her shoulder slump and she sits at the side of the closest table, pulling her arms around herself, as if to hold herself together. Thank god Tommy gets that she doesn’t need comforting, because she doesn’t think she would be able to handle it right now.

She looks around, takes in the darkness and dingy appearance of this little cave and she can see nothing but pain in it.

“I’m sorry too.” She says after a while. “I shouldn’t have slapped you.”

“I deserved it.” Tommy admits as he sits beside her.

“You did. But I still shouldn’t have slapped you.”

Tommy huffs out a breath chuckle. Silence settles between them and its not so tense as before. They’re both exhausted.

“It’s been years since I’ve thought so much about him… and now he’s everywhere, and I can’t escape him.” He hears her confess in a whisper, as if she is afraid of speaking those words any louder. Afraid of what they might do to her.

Tommy turns to look at her. “What do you mean, everywhere?”

But Felicity shakes her head, dismissing her own words, even though Tommy can see that it wasn’t just a slip of tongue. And now that he is closer and there is a bit more light, he can see her better and she looks pale, and tired and there are dark circles under her eyes. She looks like she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a long while and Tommy asks himself if its because of the shooting, or the poisoning… or finding out that the city Vigilante is running around with your dead boyfriend’s fingerprints.

“It won’t work.” Felicity says after long moments, her voice breaking a little ( _deep in the shadows, hidden up in the rafters, Oliver knows she is holding back tears by a breath or two, but Tommy doesn’t. He doesn’t know her that well_.)

“What?”

“This. Whatever it is that you’re doing. _This_!” and she points all around her at the foundry – and Tommy finally understands. His spine straightens just a tiny bit, he shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to another.

“It won’t work.” Felicity repeats, looking at him in the face this time, with big, sad eyes.

Tommy huffs out a fake laugh. “You make it sound as if helping a leather-wearing vigilante chase down the worst scum of Starling with a bow and arrows is a lunatic idea.”

But even as he delivers that line, his tone falls flat at the end, because of the look she gives him: she absorbs his levity and Tommy can see that instead of lightening the tension, it actually hurts her.

( _The small breath she lets out actually sounds like a whimper, and Oliver cringes at the sound of it_.)

“Whatever you’re trying to do here… none of this will bring him back, Tommy.” Felicity murmurs softly, eyes shining with the strength of the emotions she was containing. And when confusion clouds Tommy’s eyes, she shakes her head. There are tears in her eyes that she is stubbornly refusing to let fall, but she can’t help the way her voice thickens with emotion, the way it trembles. “He is _not_ coming back. And I know he was your person, but he’s gone. _Forever_. And there’s nothing… nothing…” her breath catches in her throat, the words failing her, but Felicity refuses to let this get the better of her. ( _a small, cowardly part of her that has never said these words aloud, not in 5 years, wishes she had never come here_ ) “There is _nothing_ we can do that is going to bring him _back_! So this – this whole thing you’re doing, you have to stop before you get yourself hurt, or worse.”

She turns away from him, hides her face

“You have to, Tommy.”

Tommy takes a deep breath.

“I’m not really helping him, you know. I just… come down here sometimes.”

Her disbelief is transparent on her face. “What, to keep him company?”

Tommy shrugs. “Yeah.”

He hears her sign deeply. “I guess I must be lonely for him. Just… just be careful Tommy. You have too many people who love you, who count on you to be safe.”

Tommy nods, laurel’s face flashing in front of him, Thea’s smile. He hoped to god Oliver was listening this because if there ever was a reality-cold-shower, this was it.

“You want me to take you home?” he asks, falling back into the familiarity of their relationship. Her sigh is tired, but there’s a small smile curving her lips.

“It’s ok, I drove here. Bye Tommy.”

“Bye Felicity.”

+

When she walks into her office later that night and the vigilante’s voice comes at her from her from one of the dark corners, Felicity almost jumps a foot up in the air and the only thing stopping her scream is the fact that she slapped her own hand over her mouth.

“Easy, miss Smoak. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Felicity takes a deep breath, and then another. Takes a step back too and wonders why oh why she hadn’t turned back when she realized that the lights wouldn’t turn on, instead of walking to her desk.

She steels herself though, looks blindly in the dark, not seeing him at all but at least having a vague idea where he might be.

“Why are you here for then?”

She would have liked to say that she sounds as determined as she did that afternoon, but the truth is that there’s a tremble to her voice, because she is afraid. It doesn’t matter thought. She’d been afraid out of her mind earlier today as well, but that hadn’t stopped her from walking in that little cave this man had set up for himself.

“I came to say thank you.” The mechanical voice scraps at her nerves making it even more eerie when the shadows move, his siluete emerging from the darkness. “And that I’m sorry.”

Felicity blinks in surprise, not knowing what to say to that. Maybe it’s her imagination, but even beneath the distortion of his voice modulator, she things she can hear the hint of real feeling in his voice… and that scares and confuses her. Felicity had expected a whole lot of things, mainly not so nice things from this man – but it had never occurred to her that the Hood might actually _apologize_. ( _which was why she had set up a virtual tracking system on her person and linked it to Quentin’s phone – it would have gone off with the fury of seven hells if she hadn’t checked up within the hour_ ). It sounded almost unbelievable… but then why should it? There was a person underneath that hood, wasn’t there. A person. And a person would apologize for hurting another person’s feelings… ( _if said person didn’t have a reputation as a ruthless killer, that is, but that’s details apparently_.)

Felicity manages a stiff nod in his general direction.

“Um, thank you too. For before. With the bullet… and the poison. Yeah. Thank you.”

Wow, that was now. She hadn’t been this nervous in a long time, not since she was a kid. But instead of babbling into tangents she actually bit her tongue and kept it short.

He steps back into the shadows and only then does Felicity remember…

“Wait!”

And wow, he actually does, turning the blankness of his hood towards her. The fact that he listened floors her for a second, but she recovers quickly.

“Why did you help me? I mean, there were others that… why me? And then before that, with that file. Do I need to be concerned here?”

It was so stupid asking him these questions. He could lie and she’d never know. She could be playing right into his game, whatever that was. He could be a dangerous sociopath (and the whole murder thing really pointed in that direction)… but for some reason, it had felt really important asking him that. She wanted to hear his answer. She wanted to judge him off those answers, whatever they might, for whatever reasons given, and not keep herself guessing anymore.

“I helped you, because doing nothing was not a choice I could live with. And I gave you that file because you seem like someone who would appreciate it. And no, you have nothing to fear from me, Miss Smoak.”

There’s a strange finality to his tone, but then again, that might very well be the creepiness of the modulator.

“Right. Ok then. So we’re like, even now?”

“Yes.”

Felicity nods jerkily. “Good. Awesome. For future reference, if you want to sneak into my office again – don’t! it’s creepy and it wigs me out. And don’t nail stuff on my walls, I don’t deal very well with… all pointy things. Which… you do not need to know. Or care about. Just, you know, start thinking about the virtues of knocking, maybe?”

She could have sworn she heard a huff, something that might easily have been a chuckle if it weren’t for the deep tone of it that made it sound almost like a cough. Maybe it was a cough. Wow, she was starting to run around in circles in her head. Adrenaline was _so_ not her friend.

“I will take that under consideration.” He says and wow, maybe she really is insane but he sounds like me might be smiling. Definitely not so doom and gloom as before. “One last thing.”

Felicity waits, all ears, for him to talk.

“I do _not_ … wear tights.” He says slowly – and Felicity’s eyebrows shoot up for her hairline. The silence between them stretches.

“Oh wow… is that a joke, or a threat?” She hears that breathy huff again and ok, that was definitely a chuckle. He doesn’t answer her, but she kinda gathers it was a joke, which wow… way worse. “It might have been better if it were a threat.”

“Goodnight miss Smoak.”

She opens her moth but her breath catches when she sees him jump out of the window… of a twentieth floor.

“Ok, that is awesome… just a tiny bit.” She says to herself. But then shakes her head, banishing the thought. “For a vigilante with an archery fetish, anyway.”

 

[1] I am so sorry for dragging ‘Highschool Musical’ into this, but this line rocks ;P


End file.
